Of Barren Design
by MoonbeamMadness
Summary: A continuance of The Walled Garden: Bickslow has made some errors of judgement in the past, especially where women are concerned, but not all of them are going to be as dangerous to his health as this one.
1. Chapter 1

Notes

I tried to work out some way of introducing this as a separate story, but considering it takes up where The Walled Garden leaves off, I kinda gave up and so hopefully I can be forgiven for jumping directly in. I won't recommend people read The Walled Garden first, let's face it, it's 150k words, that would be cruel and unusual punishment. Lol But if you've been following it and made it to the end, you'll know that Bickslow just couldn't get over himself no matter how much I wanted him to, and scurried off. And here I am desperately writing in the hopes of getting some kind of happy ending for him.

So this is for you guys. I love you all so much! I doubt its going to get as long as the Walled Garden but you never know. Ali doesn't do apologies.

* * *

Three months had become six, and then nine before his guildmates got word that he was arriving back to Magnolia, mission complete and payment eagerly received.

Bickslow was already so used to the frozen tundras up north that the burgeoning spring in Fiore was almost oppressively hot. He was tired; the trip had been miserable and the idea of sleeping in his own bed made his heart actually flutter with excitement. The monastery that had hired him to exorcise their relics, all three _hundred_ of them, had been a quiet and desolate place. They didn't appreciate his humor. They took vows of chastity and obedience. Self punishment was a daily ritual for them. He was a needed, but _wholly_ unwelcome guest in their order; his comings and goings were monitored closely, with a level of paranoia he still hadn't gotten used to by the end.

He missed his friends, he missed being able to go out drinking and partying. Loathed to admit it, but he even missed the hangovers. It had been cold and dark and within the first three weeks he wanted to go back to Fiore, wanted it more than anything; Bickslow regretted ever taking the job. He'd needed a nice vacation, not a mission to gods forsaken nowhere. Beaches instead of glaciers. Sun instead of blizzards. He should have told them to shove it and stop asking.

More than anything, he wished he could go back and have a do over, explain to them why he left so suddenly. Explain to _her_ what he'd been trying to accomplish with a little bit of solitude. _He'd_ needed space. But Laxus was right, he should have had the courage to speak to her himself before leaving. The only reason he hadn't was because he doubted his resolve. Self restraint wasn't one of his strong suits; he'd have changed his mind, he knew that without a shadow of a doubt. But it had been stupid and cruel to leave like he had without looking people in the eye and explaining himself, and whatever punches were thrown his way when he got back, he swore he'd let them land. They deserved that much. He'd had so many opportunities to send a letter or some kind of message but he'd had no idea what he could say to make it right. In the end he'd done nothing, hoping when he got back he'd be able to vocalize himself more clearly.

When the train pulled in, he was surprised to see the Thunder Legion waiting for him. As surprised as he was disappointed not to see _her_ with them. She was undoubtedly still going to be furious with him, but it seemed too angry to welcome him back with the others.

"Long time no see," Laxus greeted him with an outstretched arm and a wide smile that Bickslow happily took. He'd die before admitting it, but he'd been so unbearably lonely the last few months. It was torment. He'd never been so delighted to see his team.

"Yeah, don't even get me started. There was more life in the damn snowmen I made than those stupid monks. They wouldn't know fun if it turned up and bit them in the ass," He smiled and slipped off his visor.

"Did you see much of their temple? I've been told they have _extensive_ libraries," Freed commented, he was still exactly the same as Bickslow remembered.

"Well, I didn't exactly get a tour of the place. Six months in that frozen shithole and they still wouldn't let me see more than a couple of mouldy rooms. The fact that they needed a Seith at all rankled them on _principle_ alone. My money was _well_ fucking earned," He grumbled. He didn't want to say that the monks hated him, but well, they'd _really_ fucking hated him. Maybe he reminded them of all the things they'd sacrificed for their religion, maybe they were just assholes. Bickslow no longer cared.

Laxus smiled in a thoroughly unsympathetic way. After all, Bickslow had pretty much brought this on himself when he left to begin with. The Dragon Slayer was a sporting a few more scars than when Bickslow had seen him last but was otherwise none the worse for wear, and Evergreen?

"Is that an _engagement ring_?" Bickslow choked out, breathlessly.

She flashed him a smug looking smile, wiggling her fingers and letting the diamond twinkle in the sun. He could already see Mira's taste in the design of the stone. Elfman wouldn't have had anywhere near as much know how to pick out a rock that _stunning._

"You've been gone a while, Bixy," She grinned, examining the way the ring looked on her hand.

"I take it I missed some stuff," He laughed.

"Oh, only Lucy's baby being born, Gajeel and Levy's _wedding."_ Her expression was sharp. " _Other things_ ," She gave him a sudden, disapproving look he was sure was meant to convey something more important than the anger he picked up from it, but he didn't understand. He'd have used his magic to look closer but her stone eyes were quick, and he knew he'd be living out the Magnolian summer as permanent garden fixture if he tried it.

"What am I not getting here?" He asked Laxus. Freed suddenly wouldn't make eye contact with him at all. Clearing his throat awkwardly. "Did someone die or something?" He asked.

Laxus winced and Bickslow paled. It wasn't the response he was looking for.

"Ali?" He asked, suddenly nervous. _"Boss?"_

"Yeah, we need to have a chat about how you go about dumping women, Bickslow," The Dragon Slayer sounded jaded.

Bickslow didn't interrupt him to remind him they were never an item, so no dumping ever technically took place but clearly something had happened and despite the urge, he suddenly, desperately needed to know she was okay. Laxus caught his silent plea. "Don't worry, I'm sure she's fine, but that's not here and it hasn't been for a while," He said.

"What're you talking about? She left the guild?" The internalized guilt he'd been trying to ignore for the better part of the year came flooding back to him, gripping his stomach with a cold, painfully vice like grip.

"A few months back. Took a few jobs with us, a few on her own, with Gajeel and Levy, Shadow Gear, but she lost interest in making friends and playing nice," Laxus gave him a measured look. Something between resentment and relief. "We wanted to wait for you to get back before we went looking. We'd have sent you a message but we didn't have the location of the monastery," He finished.

Bickslow had purposefully kept the location from the guild at the Monk's request. And finally Evergreen's glare made sense to him. A silent 'this is your fault' if ever he'd seen it.

The woman was positively glaring sharp daggers at him.

"She _snatched_ up a job I'd my eye on in Stella, and when she got back made some excuse about having some stuff to do, then disappeared," She sounded so bitter but he knew it was a smokescreen. She clearly took umbrage with his behaviour. The way he'd treated them all had been beyond disrespectful. He knew Ever well enough to know she wouldn't have tied the knot without the full team present to witness it. She was probably putting off the wedding till he got back. He felt like even more of a jackass. They'd deserved a decent explanation.

Bickslow refrained from sitting down right there on the platform and just giving up. Had he really expected to just waltz back into the guild nearly a year later and everything to just pick up where they left off? Had he _wanted_ that? He thought he left because he wasn't sure about himself. Everything was so up in the air and he wasn't sure who he _was_ anymore, after everything that had happened. He had issues and he'd wanted a little time for self reflection to sort those out. He now knew he might have wanted more from Ali than friendship and as he stood there, finding out just how badly he'd messed up, he realized that the honest answer was, _yes,_ an enormous part of him _had_ expected to just wander back from his travels, take her righteous anger on the chin and kiss her so hard she forgot how to walk. Show her what a proper kiss was. How stupid could you get? He felt like a fucking _idiot. Just who did he think he was dealing with?_

"Did she say anything about where she was headed?" His voice shook. In his head he was already gauging how much time he'd need to get himself together for another trip.

"She didn't say much before she left, " Laxus said. "But it didn't take much digging to get a destination."

"I doubt she ran farther than _you,"_ Ever sneered.

"Hey, I had some things to work through," Bickslow tried to halfheartedly defend himself. "Besides, why the hell do you even care? I may have missed a few things but I'm positive you getting chummy with her wasn't one of them," He sucked in a breath to try and quell the sudden anger bubbling up. Ever was sticking up for her. The women were like chalk and cheese but Evergreen wasn't heartless and she certainly wasn't the one in the wrong here. How was he going to take Ali's wrath if the mildly indignant comments of his friends were too much?

"I don't need justify _anything_ to you. You left _us_ as well, remember?" She countered, staring at him over the rim of her glasses. Daring him to try her.

"I had to figure some stuff out."

"And you'd to go halfway across Earthland to a frozen wasteland to do that," Laxus hadn't phrased it as a question, it was more of an observation than anything, but Bickslow felt cornered; it was impossible not to feel defensive.

"Of _course_ a vacation to a nice tropical island probably would have been better in hindsight, but I think I already qualify for an award for stupid fucking decisions, boss," He ran a hand through his hair absently. It had been a long trip. He was tired and immediately in need of a stiff drink, but he'd been stone cold sober for the better part of a year and if he started to climb into that bottle right now, it could be next week before he crawled out of it.

"Well, on the bright side you could probably _buy_ an Island with the payoff." Laxus's expression softened. "Let's get back to the guild. Dinner tonight is on _you,"_ Laxus smiled. " and I happen to be _really fucking hungry._ Tomorrow we can talk about your plan to track down your _girlfriend."_

Well, there went his giant payoff. Soon to be spent feeding a Dragon Slayer the size of a small mountain.

"She's _not my girlfriend,"_ Bickslow finally snapped, his temper boiling over.

"And that's pretty much _your entire problem,_ isn't it," Laxus smirked knowingly before turning and making his way out of the station.

Bickslow sighed, slung his bag over his shoulder and followed the others. He frowned. Rattling in the bag he could hear his Totem's muffled, angry chants. They'd been almost unbearable for the entire trip.

"What if she doesn't want to be found? She left for a reason," He was doing it again. Avoidance. He felt like kicking himself. Laxus would see through him faster than anyone.

"She's still a member of the guild, and we haven't heard anything in a few months, so we're gonna go see what's up," Laxus walked ahead, pedestrians parted in from of him.

"We're _?"_ Bickslow drawled.

"Me and Natsu are coming," He stopped and turned to laugh at him. "Someone might need to step in if she decides to _stab you."_ Laxus seemed to find the idea hilarious.

"Natsu's really leaving Lucy and their new kid to go gallivanting around?" Bickslow wanted to avoid thinking about the likelihood of Alma introducing his manhood to a blade.

"Oh, not this again?" Freed bemoaned, immediately exasperated. Bickslow looked at him seriously.

"It's _complicated,"_ Laxus rasped.

"Like everything else. So where exactly did she go?" He almost didn't want the answer.

"She went to Atla," Laxus drawled, pleased with the look of burgeoning terror on Bickslow's face.

After nine months of ice, the heat was probably going to kill him long before she got a chance.


	2. Chapter 2

It was quite literally the happiest his babies had been in nine whole months. When your magic gave you control over souls themselves, it was easy enough to forget that his constant companions were with him, mostly by choice. He could command them, but he didn't have to. He led, and they followed. It had been like that for a decade. From the time he turned twelve and he freed them from the clutches of a dark magic guild, those same souls were his constant companions. Eternally linked to him. With no bodies of their own they existed in symbiosis with him. They could be separated for a time but only if he stored them away. A process he knew they hated.

In a lot of ways they'd become as much of an extension of him as his own hands; it should have been a sign he took to heart when they expressed affection for Ali. Annoying her endlessly. Embarrassing him with their completely inappropriate comments.

He was still staggeringly exhausted two days later when he managed to drag himself to the station to meet the others. Laxus was talking with an overly eager Natsu; the fire Dragon Slayer had darker rings round his eyes than Bickslow had, and the sight of himself in the mirror that morning had frightened the shit out of him. He was a good looking guy, he was well aware of this, but holy hell did he look rough. Natsu was suffering through that phase all new parents became accustomed to. Where your every waking, and often sleeping, hour is spent devoted to the demanding cries of something so hopelessly dependent on you they often needed assistance _pooping._

 _"And_ it's before ten am," Laxus happily remarked. Glancing Bickslow's way.

"Awww _maaaaan,"_ Natsu growled, forking over a sum of money to Laxus while Bickslow glared accusingly at them.

"Fleecing guild members, are we, boss?" He said with a tight grin. He knew very well that that had been a little jab at him as well as a blatant scam if ever he'd seen it. Laxus had once told him he didn't get out of bed before ten am for 'just friends'.

And here he was, ready to go at nine, an easy prediction for Laxus to know that he wouldn't be late, today of all days.

There was a tense sort of comraderie between them. Bickslow knew why he was going, he also knew that Laxus in part was going to make sure he was going where he was supposed to, but Natsu's presence confused him. His son couldn't have been what, six months old maybe?

His questions were answered when Lucy arrived before the train to see Natsu off. A snotty, gurgling infant resting in her arms. When she passed the child over to Natsu to say goodbye, Bickslow recoiled at the ungodly noise the infant started making, pulling at his fathers hair and pushing at him. Face suddenly red with angry tears. The lung capacity was beyond impressive. He watched Lucy wince before taking the child back. In her arms, he _immediately_ settled. Natsu sighed dejectedly. His own son liked _Gajeel_ more than him. The running joke in the guild was that the only reason Levy and Gajeel hadn't had children of their own yet was because Gajeel spent so much time babysitting Natsu's.

It wound him up something fierce to know his own son disliked him to such an extent.

Even Gajeel had stopped teasing him about it. The first burst nappy while the Iron Dragon Slayer had been holding him had ensured Gajeel never mocked Natsu over it again. He could only _wish_ Natsu's son hated him as much as his own father. At least then he wouldn't be getting crapped and vomited on quite so much.

Lucy gave Natsu a kiss and a sympathetic smile.

"When you get back we'll see about getting a bigger place. Maybe more space will help a bit," She offered.

Bickslow stared at the child in her arms, examining him. Before he'd met Alma he would have just seen discomfort or anger. He wouldn't have had the skills to delve deeper. But he did now. He instantly saw the child's problem.

"You need to cool yourself _down_ a bit. You're a million degrees every time you pick him up," Bickslow commented offhandedly to the stares of everyone involved. Lucy turned to look at Natsu and put her hand on his forehead.

"Crap! You're _burning up right now_ ," She looked down at the child in her arms and back over to Bickslow. "It can't be as simple as all that? It can't be."

Bicksslow was tired. He wanted to get on the train and be gone already. Maybe get some more sleep. Start applying sunscreen now, because he remembered how hot it was in Atla. And that had been from the memories of someone who'd been born and raised there. If the natives felt the heat like that after a lifetime of exposure then it was going to be bad. It was going to be very, _very bad_.

"Believe it or don't believe it, cheerleader," He stepped off the platform heading for their compartment. Lucy frowned, unimpressed with his attitude.

Laxus sighed while Natsu started concentrating on bringing his body temperature down. Suddenly pleased to think that it wasn't something personal as like or dislike, he was just careless with his magic.

"I'd suggest he needs to find a good woman, but..." Lucy grinned at Laxus. The lightning Dragon Slayer started laughing.

"Good one," He looked to Natsu who was turning blue. Apparently trying to smother his internal fire with oxygen deprivation. Laxus shook his head. "I'll try and bring the father of your child back in one piece," Laxus looked at the small bag Natsu carried. "You better not have Happy in there?" Natsu picked it up and shook it.

"Hey, I'm not an idiot. He's staying to help Lucy," It had been one of Lucy's requirements. If Natsu went, then Happy would stay. She wasn't so foolish to think that she wouldn't need _some_ in-house assistance with their son. "Besides, he hates sand."

"Don't we all," Laxus growled out. Sand was all well and good when you had the ocean to wash it out of the tight places it liked to creep into, but where they were going, there wasn't going to be an ocean or lake for over a thousand miles in any direction.

* * *

Natsu was a loud snored and Bickslow had never truly appreciated how much that bothered him before. Endless months in a mostly silent monastery had left his nerves raw and his demeanor irritable in close quarters with others. He suddenly couldn't tolerate the sound _or_ their presence. He'd never noticed it before but Laxus kind of stank; a musky smell that seemed to follow him around. So many missions with Laxus and it had never bothered him up to now. This must have been how Alma experienced the world; living in a constant state of sensory overload.

He tried to rest, closing his eyes and thinking about something other than where he was or where he was going; the hellish, smothering heat awaiting him in the Desierto province. It kind of worked, but every time he closed his eyes he pictured her. The way her forehead would crease when she got annoyed, or the way she'd snort when she laughed. She had the most amusingly masculine laugh he'd ever heard. It sounded like the kind of laugh you'd hear in a bar from the old guy in the corner.

She didn't care for peoples opinions, wouldn't be polite because that was seen as the default for a woman. Her aggression was off putting to most. Coupled with her need to maintain distance and it left her rather isolated. He may have been the only person that willingly spent time with her. Now the tables had turned and he was finding it difficult to even be in the same room as people.

He found himself smirking. This was some kind of justice the Universe was dealing out to him right now and he was going to cheer the fuck up, grin and take it. Like a moron he'd gotten himself into this mess and he was going to have to face this.

"What the hell are _you_ grinning about?" Laxus asked him while a sleeping Natsu rolled over in his bunk, smoke puffing out of his nostrils. Bickslow stood and cracked open the window letting in some much needed air. How Lucy even slept in the same room as the pink haired fool with the heat he generated, would forever remain a mystery. It was stifling. The guy just wasn't Human. Even heading to one of the hottest places on the continent, both Bickslow and Laxus had to pack enough sunscreen for half the guild, but Natsu just _didn't burn_. This was going to seem like a holiday for the guy that once fell asleep in actual _lava._

"Oh, nothing," Bickslow smiled in response.

"That nothing had better include this magical apology. I'm gonna go out on a limb here and say that she's not the forgiving sort," Laxus had gotten to know her fairly well, enough to know she could hold a grudge.

"I'm not gonna apologize," Bickslow laughed and Laxus sat up straight. Bickslow knew she hated apologies. Gestures were better.

"So what, should I start measuring you for your coffin now, or wait till we're off the train?" Laxus joked.

"Very funny!" Bickslow swallowed. "She's not gonna kill me. Probably still mad as hell, but she doesn't actually like killing people," He shifted in his seat a little uncomfortable all of a sudden. "I am gonna need to start wearing a cup for the rest of the trip, though." He laughed before growing sombre. "I didn't think it would affect her so..." He couldn't even finish.

"Bickslow, it's not just her it affected. You ran off to spend most of a year in a place with no alcohol, no women and where the main diet is defrosted moss. I think her reaction was probably the more measured one," Laxus smirked knowingly.

"It was a _job,"_ He whined.

"It was a job you had no intention of taking. You said you'd cut your own balls off before you'd exile yourself to a place with no booze," Laxus fixed him with a stern look. "And then my emotionally stunted friend, you went and fell in love."

Bickslow pointed a finger accusingly at Laxus.

"That's bullshit" He growled out. Sure he had feelings for her, but they weren't love. He'd been in love before, this wasn't that.

"Sure, you couldn't keep your hands off the last one, and this _is_ different, but it's still love, Bix. Fair enough, when your eyes met across the room it was through bars and you were interrogating her," He spared a chuckle as Bickslow deflated a little. "But you not lusting over her like a hormonal teenager doesn't mean a damn thing. You found someone you can't frighten off, someone you care for, are attracted to. Someone who you're willing to get up out of bed for. Fuck, you were smiling at the thought of her _beating the shit out of you,"_ Laxus grinned as a slow burning look of realization started creeping it's way across Bickslow's face, only to be replaced by horror.

"I _did_ dump her," He muttered.

From the top bunk Natsu laughed suddenly. Bickslow had no idea when he woke up.

"Oh man, did you _ever,"_ Natsu hung off the side and turned to look at them. "You're lucky Erza wasn't in town when you got back. She swore she'd turn you into a pin cushion," He was teasing Bickslow and in a way it was a relief. Things changed, but some things didn't no matter how much time passed. He closed his eyes and sat back down. The compartment was cramped but there was a cooling breeze blowing in that kept the temperature tolerable.

It would take over a week to get to Desierto by train and another week by foot if they couldn't acquire further means of transport. Atla was hot. Hotter than most of the deserts by far. The minerals in the sand reflected the sun to a lethal extent. The extent of sunburn from even brief minutes of exposure could be genuinely life threatening. It was one of the things that allowed Atla to exist in a moderate, if not tense, state of independence; even the other neighboring provinces didn't feel it was worth the trouble to invade. Atla military was as ruthless at the desert that they were born to. Losses would be high, rewards few. The other provinces had more to gain from ignoring them.

They were as close to a people as she had. It would make sense her coming back here.

But he wasn't entirely sure it was solely on account of him.


	3. Chapter 3

The sun had left painful blisters on their skin; anything that had been left exposed and vulnerable: their faces and feet, hands; there were large sections on most of their backs that were all but destroyed, a mixture of open oozing whip wounds and extensive burns from the sun.

She watched them walk in chains, their eyes downcast as they were herded along. Broken souls. The resonating threads that made up their being were so still even she could barely see them. They'd been ground down to almost nothing. Buried deep in her mind was a memory of a burning, chaffing weight on her feet, the sound of jingling bells that drew oh so very close to causing actual anxiety. She was lucky to have experienced this society for the most part as a soldier would have. And that was a terrible thought in and of itself, because the life of an Atlan soldier was one to be pitied.

Alma kept her head lowered while town officials passed behind her, whips snapping at the slaves in front, a handful of priests following in their wake, the baskets the carried for donations should have been empty, after all, the people they targeted had nothing, but like most good religions they knew that it was those most afraid that gave the most, and they sowed fear like wheat. Their baskets were full. Everything from coin to jewelry, food.

The passed by closely, too close for comfort. So close that she felt armoured boots step on the hem of her cloak and the woman at her right stiffened, fully prepared to move. Alma grabbed her by the wrist, wincing at the immediate surge of panic and fear that wasn't her own but held her still. Movement would be noticed. The man at the stall in front of them threw the officials an enraged look, his energy flickering between fear and frustration. His eyes held nothing but contempt for them. Terrified people were not the best kind of customers and when people didn't buy, eventually, few could afford to sell. The other towns were becoming like this one. They were dying. Bled dry by taxes and terror. Fear that their children would be taken, that they would be forced to leave their homes or risk starvation. Fear that if they spoke out they'd be handed to the priests to be sold on as slaves, or sacrificed; used and abused and murdered. Thrown onto the piles of inflamed corpses littering the training hills where Atla turned its boys into murderers.

But things were changing. Already they were so different to how she remembered them being, how her passed lives had experienced the world. The people had grown rebellious in her absence. They were angry and riotous. The new youth had become resentful of their forced poverty, now clearly seeing the yoke around their necks as the system of control that it was. Things were at a boiling point, almost ready to explode. The countries leaders had walked the fine line of public disapproval for so long they didn't quite realise that they'd crossed over it at some point. Even the nobles, the wealthiest, had become an enemy of the state. When not even gold could feed you, what was the point in even having it? The only wealth now was left with whoever controlled the water, and that was still the ruling body of Atla.

She paid for the fruit and turned to walk away when a green scarf caught her eye hanging from the sellers stall.

As quick as a snake the man plucked it from its hook and presented it in front of her. She didn't need magic to tell that her companion was rolling her eyes behind her. She ignored her and resisted the urge to chastise the blatant disrespect. She was much older than her and in public like this, nothing would flag them as suspicious faster than a snotty nosed youth acting out against an elder.

Alma felt like laughing as she ran her hands though the material. It was beautiful. Imported silk. How a seller like this was able to find something like this was a mystery. In the desert, greens and blues were the most expensive of dyes. The hardest colours to produce, and they faded fast in the sun, too; this particular colour always seemed call to her. She glanced at the tag and clenched her jaw, before pulling out an bag of coin and handing it over. The seller was practically ecstatic. He folded the silk and wrapped it carefully for her.

"Madam," He bowed and Alma almost flinched. It was a title normally used to address old women. She hurried out of the marketplace while her companion followed, laughing under her breath.

"Would you be quiet before you get yourself killed?" Alma snarled at her. The younger woman quieted down but there was a smile on her face that reminded Alma of Bickslow and she suddenly wanted to smack it off.

"Have you any idea how much you just paid for that scrap?" The young woman mocked her.

"Yes, have you any idea how close you just came to revealing yourself to the town guards?" Alma snapped back as they continued through the winding narrow streets out of town before the curfew at sunset. If they were caught on the streets after dark, they'd be taken to the temple. A quick death would be preferable.

"You must really like that colour?" She said to Alma when they were finally out of town. The road was a few miles of empty track connecting the markets, temples and government buildings, with the residential areas and animal keeps.

"It reminds me of the forests. I-I miss _grass,"_ Alma admitted. The feel of it under her toes was something she missed greatly.

"I don't even know what grass _is,"_ The younger of the two replied with a smile, adjusting the covering on her head, shielding her from the sun. "It's hard to imagine something more than sand and rock. It must be strange to see water fall from the sky," She said wistfully. "It sounds _cold."_

Alma wasn't an enormous fan of the rain. It made mud, and that made wearing heavy armor more than a little uncomfortable, even dangerous. Rain also froze sometimes. She shuddered thinking about the winter in Magnolia, the snow, and weather so freezing, nothing she could do would keep her warm. She preferred the sun to the snow. Without a doubt.

"I doubt you even know what cold is, either _,"_ Alma fired back with a grin. Nights in the desert were chilly, but they didn't have a word for Winter in Desierto.

"Probably not," She admitted to Alma, the mood dampened as they turned to more serious topics beyond the younger woman's lack of travel.

"So, did you make note of the guards this time?" Alma asked her. The woman nodded quickly. "And you were timing how long they took on their rounds?"

"Yes," She inclined her head a little.

"We aren't going to have a situation like last time? Your father would have your head this time," Alma cocked an eyebrow at her, glaring at the younger woman over her shoulder.

"I timed that perfectly. They were _early,"_ She defended herself.

"Is there even any point in lying to _me?_ If you aren't going to bother to learn to shield yourself properly, then you may as well tell me the truth," Alma chastised her. "I'm not your father," She sighed, reminding her that it wasn't her place to judge.

 _"Fine._ I took too long doing something and I was late," She said begrudgingly. "Satisfied?"

"Doing what, Jera?" Alma asked.

"Doing who..." Jera started saying sheepishly trying to hide her embarrassment. Alma froze in her tracks before rounding on her.

 _"What?_ " She bit out disbelievingly. "You almost got killed because you were late, and you were _late_ because you were too busy having sex with some stranger to bother being on time?" She looked at her disbelievingly. _"Again?_ Are you _stupid?"_

 _"Maybe,"_ She glared back defiantly, lips pulling in a grin. "He wasn't even any good."

There was a loud crack and a muffled yelp heard along the roadside, echoing into the distance.

* * *

They stood out like a sore thumb pretty much everywhere they went. They were taller than a vast majority of the locals in virtually every town as they quietly moved further and further toward the capital. Very few countries kept ties with Atla but due to the legal slave trade in both, Bosco had relatively good relations. There was an embassy in the capital. If they got into trouble, Bickslow's native nationality might get them out of immediate hot water. So far his totems had kept them ahead of most of the patrols, and some local garb helped them blend in for the most part. Though, visually, Natsu was the only one capable of moving without turning at least the odd head. His very average height was a benefit for the more covert missions and when they realized just how tense Atla was at present, they knew they were going to have to tread very carefully. Natsu's fireproof status was going to be useful, as well. He didn't lumber about in the heat like they did, and there was a substantial number of fire magic users in Desierto. Fire and sand. The two main magics that mages tended to practice there.

And beast mastery.

Laxus may had seen them before but the first time Natsu saw the giant lizard like creatures crawl up out of the sand, he almost crapped his pants. Mouths full of needle-like teeth in heads the size of Laxus's torso. The Atlan guard rode them. Boro they called them. As fast as any horse and at home in the burning sand. They grew to enormous sizes. If you included the tail, the one that sprung up in front of Natsu would have easily been forty feet long.

They were available to purchase but they were notoriously unreliable. If you weren't controlling them with magic they tended to either eat you or leave you high and dry in the desert. They had no loyalties. They were wild creatures at heart, even the ones the sellers assured you were tamed were usually far from it; Bickslow was a Seith mage skilled in dealing with Human souls, animals were another thing. No matter how much Natsu pleaded with them Bickslow wouldn't advocate them buying one. Laxus had a large scar on his backside from years back where the creature they'd purchased tried to eat him in his sleep. He'd developed a healthy dislike since. Bickslow couldn't blame him. They were lethal, like pretty much everything in this forsaken, baking hot place.

Passed a certain point, they had no idea where she might have gone so they kept their eyes and ears open. Bickslow was the only one fluent in the majority of languages they spoke in Atla. There were dialects of old Altan, but also others from the neighboring provinces, even Boscan, which shocked him. For a place where for the majority, education was illegal, they were naturally gifted linguists. Everyone they'd met so far spoke the common tongue fluently, usually as well as several others. A seller in the marketplace had switched back and forth between so many languages that Bickslow lost his train of thought and stood there dumbly while the man waited for his food order, probably thinking he was an idiot. It was like dealing with a country of Levy's. Laxus was no idiot and spoke one or two extra languages well enough for Bickslow to be able to conceal some topics from potential eavesdroppers, but that wouldn't be the case here. A child on the street had the audacity to laugh at his _Boscan._ Bickslow had _taught_ him Boscan. It was basically like mocking _him._

They were very much out of their depth on this one. To say it was the smallest territory in the country was not to say it was small. They wandered through hoping for some information to fall into their laps. A few towns in, while Laxus was adjusting to the heat and the food, projectile vomiting was apparently a skill of his, they'd gotten lucky and overheard some men talking about a woman breaking a man's arm at a bar. Bickslow had looked to a too pale Laxus who'd agreed that it was more than likely Alma. Atla wasn't the place for aggressive or outspoken women and he doubted there would be many, if any, starting and finishing bar fights.

From the scarce information, and really, it was nothing more than tavern gossip, they'd managed to get a potential direction at least, though that had been two towns ago and after that she'd seemed to vanish. It was amusing to think they were tracking her trail of carnage across Atla.

The sun was setting in the small town when Natsu caught her scent in the air and pointed them toward the square. It was so sudden. They were basically moving aimlessly from one place to the next, so when they actually came across hard tangible prove she was here, it came as somewhat of a shock. He hadn't realized how fast he'd been walking until he found himself skidding to a halt, his totems warning him of an oncoming patrol; he motioned for Laxus and Natsu to stop. The soldiers passed unawares, clad in the familiar predatory bird armour he'd grown to know so well and he let out the breath he'd been holding. They were foreigners sneaking about at night outside what he'd been able to identify as the temple, if they were spotted, folks with swords were going to try and kill them, and Bickslow knew between them, Natsu and Laxus would level the town. Then they'd have an international incident. Maybe Laxus would be able to restrain himself from total destruction, but not Natsu.

They were about to continue when a small figure carrying two swords across their back scurried up a wall across the road and onto the flat shop roof. From the silouette it looks like a woman. The right height. The same swords. Before Bickslow knew what he was doing, before Natsu or Laxus could tackle him to the dirt and pin him, he was suddenly running. No longer caring about guards or being seen. He couldn't explain his reasoning; for a Seith, _he_ was suddenly a man possessed. The sun was setting as he found himself racing across the flat roofs, clumsily bumping into peoples furniture all in pursuit of the figure he was now positive was Alma. He clipped something and almost found himself on his face. Everything about her, even down to the way she moved was Ali. _Had_ to be her. He was sure of it. He could hear the others running after him; just about make out Laxus's angry growling but his agility was a source of pride and while she might have been fast, certainly physically stronger, he scaled walls with an ease that wouldn't be matched by many. Not even her.

He sent his totems ahead and had them bar the way. The sight of them stalled her just enough for him to get a grip on her and yank her back by the collar. He got an elbow to the ribs for his trouble and when the woman turned, she dropped low and took his feet out from under him. He hit the ground hard. Too dazed to even fight back. He found himself staring up into a younger face. Maybe about seventeen or eighteen, dark eyes framed by what looked like ash or soot. A single streak of black dividing her face.

The disappointment was almost tangible. It hit him harder than he'd hit the ground. _It wasn't her._

The woman that put Alma's prized swords on either side of his throat looked barely old enough to drink, but she wasn't too young to have killed. He could see it in her soul. He could of used his magic to possess her but he was sure the flash would get them spotted faster than anything. He kept himself calm. The others were right on his tail.

"Sorry, kitten, thought you were someone else," He muttered. He looked to the weapons she was holding and fixed her with a hard glare. Alma wouldn't have given anyone her swords. "Who are you?" He asked her.

To his surprise it was his own totems that responded, circling over her suddenly nervous head chanting "Jera, Jera, Jera, Jera" Happily oblivious to his increasing confusion.

The woman who's name he was going to assume was Jera, based on her surprised reaction, glanced back down at him.

"That's just _creepy!"_ She deadpanned.

She pressed the edges of her blades to his throat hard enough that he felt the skin split.

"Why are you following me?" She asked him. He hesitated and she pressed just a little harder. "I'll be getting my ass kicked if I'm late so let's be quick with our answers," She snarled at his silence.

"Well, sweety, you're carrying my friends swords. It was an honest mistake to make," He said. His totems started their new happy chant of "Alma, Alma, Alma," The woman, Jera, gave them another wary look. Clearly unsettled by their presence overhead but suddenly calmer than she had been.

"Is that a common activity for men where you come from?" She asked, eyebrow raised. "Chasing women across rooftops?"

 _"No,"_ Bickslow laughed.

"You're lucky it _wasn't_ her you tried to chase down, she would have cut your head from your shoulders," Jera sneered at his far too casual attitude.

"Well I'm glad _you_ said it, saves me from fucking having to," Laxus growled out. Him and Natsu having finally caught up. The Dragon Slayers looked murderously at Bickslow.

"Coulda told you it wasn't her," Natsu commented. Both him and Laxus had been fooled for maybe a moment before their noses clarified things.

The look on Jera's face when she realized she was surrounded was one of barely concealed panic.

But it was _nothing_ in comparison to the expression when the temple bells started to ring. Suddenly, Bickslow and the others no longer existed as she looked toward the domed building and uttered several string of Atlan curses. Bickslow had no doubt that "blue haired lizard fucker" was meant for him. She pulled back her weapons and started to run. Clambering to his feet, Bickslow and the others followed. She was currently the only lead they had and they couldn't afford to let her disappear into the darkness without at least some sort of explanation.

She ran like she were being chased by a herd of Boro, using the rooftops to circle the temple before stopping at the lavish structure's side gate. They smelled it before they saw it and she fell to her knees at the rooftops edge. Below, at the gates to the temple, armed guards were dragging an unconscious and bloody Alma inside while the corpses of slaves tied to the poles as offerings, continued to burn. Some of them were still thrashing. None of the Fairy Tail mages had ever seen anything like it, and the jarring realization that Alma was now trapped inside with them was utterly terrifying.

Natsu growled low. "And here I was thinking I wouldn't get to demolish anything on this trip," The fire Dragon Slayer rubbed his hands together eagerly while Laxus and Bickslow tried to wipe the sight of a dozen burning bodies from their minds.

"We could go in from the roof, doesn't seem like they look up that much," Laxus said, already trying to formulate a plan to get her out while causing as little damage as possible. The minute they started killing government officials and religious leaders, that was the minute they walked themselves into an international incident. Laxus felt sick to his stomach to even think it, but what they did to their own people wasn't something Fairy Tail could control or change.

"You go in through that dome and the whole thing's likely to collapse, boss. We could just use the front door. Wipe memories as we go," Bickslow offered the most likely method.

"Am I the only one advocating complete destruction here?" Natsu asked, honestly disturbed that Laxus and Bickslow would be concerning themselves with the comfort or safety of anyone else inside. Because what kind of person would do that to another Human? It was barbarism. His instincts were to burn the entire place to the ground and to hell with the political fallout. This was evil. And the worst thing you could do with evil was to abide it. The alternative to action was to do nothing, and he wasn't sure he could do that.

" _No one...is doing...anything_!" The young woman climbed off her knees and turned, wiping at her eyes, pointing one of Alma's sword at Bickslow. "Those men down there are dead because of _you,"_ She hissed. "I was to break their chains before this started. Before their mages could..." She practically choked on her words. "And they're dead!"

"But Ali _isn't!"_ Bickslow snapped at her.

She took her time now examining them. Her eyes suddenly fixated on the Fairy Tail insignia on Natsu's shoulder that she hadn't seen before. The only mark currently visible on them.

She pointed to Natsu's mark, flickering in the firelight and glared at them.

"Show me!" She all but demanded. Her voice was shaking slightly. Bickslow could practically see the inexperience in her aura. She was on edge and very afraid. The blade of her sword was trembling.

Laxus pulled back the collar of his shirt displaying his guild mark on his chest. Bickslow stuck out his tongue.

The was a moment of something like empathy between her and Bickslow, he was worried, the most visibly shaken of the three, and he'd just seen Alma be dragged into a place that liked to burn people alive, but the moment was brief and the woman's anger seemed to instantly eclipse it. "Don't worry for _her._ They won't kill her today. They won't do it behind closed doors, not without an audience and a government official," She explained. "But those men down there are _dead._ They were _my_ responsibility," She whispered. The sight of the corpses didn't seem to effect her. It was something else about failure that made her anxious.

This was her allotted job, her mission, and she'd failed. She'd failed because of them. Those slaves had burned to death because she hadn't reached them in time. Alma was the distraction to allow her to get them to safety before they could be killed. It was timed so carefully to fall between the guard shifts. To ensure there were as few there as possible. Give them the best chance at it.

She stared each one of them down and spat at their feet before turning away from them.

Bickslow stood rooted to the spot. This wasn't _their_ fault. This was _his_ fault.

* * *

Notes

Big thank you to my reviewers! kmmcm, Desna, TitanXyz and bibliophilia13

Love you guys! And for all the follows and favorites so far. Remember, rated M for adult reasons.


	4. Chapter 4

Jera wasn't wrong when she'd said they wouldn't kill immediately. The next day there was an enormous commotion. There were dozens more guards patrolling the streets and Bickslow, Natsu and Laxus spent the majority of the time avoiding the worst of the heat and local eyes in a tavern. They were branded with the Fairy Tail symbol, same as Alma. As covered as they were, they thought it would be best not to risk it. The majority of patrons at the bar were foreigners to Atla, unable to tolerate the midday sun and sheltering from the baking temperatures. There was a lot of helpful information a Dragon Slayer could eavesdrop in a busy bar; a lot of merchants passing through the towns weren't native to this type of exhaustive sun; heralding from elsewhere in Desierto and catering to the wealthier. They talked _excessively,_ and if they were to be believed, then Atla was on a knifes edge. Rebellion was looming.

In the two days following they saw hundreds more people arriving. Some were wealthy and clearly in positions of power, others were poorer, drawn by the crowds. Bickslow and Laxus could spot the pickpockets a mile away though Natsu seemed utterly clueless. Bickslow guessed that Lucy would probably be the one with the coin purse wedged tightly in some body cavity or another when they were on jobs. Natsu was _hopeless._

It was the first public execution Bickslow had ever been to. It was hard to say when he was younger if he'd ever witnessed something like this. Bosco still practiced executions but he wagered he would have either been too young to recall, or his family would have kept him well away. Still practiced didn't necessarily mean supported, and from the looks about the crowd here, it seemed that while people came to witness, they didn't seem enthralled; there were visibly unhappy faces.

He would have expected the nobility to be in support of the clear show of power the guard and priests were trying to put on here, but they didn't seem pleased. It was rare when a ruling body didn't have the support of their wealthy population. It was the sign of a government about to fall; an empire ready to collapse.

They took positions in the crowd close to the centre of the large square sandpit at its town centre. There was mostly silence and quiet mutters from the audience that had gathered. Bickslow cautiously checked the sand with his eyes for anything living, the glow of his magic partially concealed behind Laxus's hulking form, but Bickslows eyes found nothing living in the sand. Just earth. The Fairy Tail mages no longer seemed completely out of place in the crowd, quite a number of the wealthier spectators where flanked by larger men, no doubt their protection.

Natsu circled around the other side of the area and stayed out of sight. Laxus had jokingly warned him not to get robbed or he'd send pieces of him back to Lucy. The larger of the Dragon Slayers knew it was almost guaranteed at some point on this trip that he'd have his pockets dipped. Whether the thief went away with money or something heinous stuck to their fingers remained to be seen.

Bickslow stayed as still as a statue as people parted letting the priests pass them. They'd chained her and he knew it was with anti magic restraints because he could see her aura burning like a sun. Blues and whites, blacks and greens. It wasn't the consistent tones he usually saw with everyone else but that he could see it at all meant that she couldn't shield herself. She was cut and beaten, dark bruises covered her arms and legs and they'd all but stripped her to her skin, barely there, bloody rags covering her chest and hips. On one ankle there was a smaller, thinner link that wasn't attached to anything but a single bell. If she moved too fast or she stumbled, it rang out and it would be answered with a whip. He watched her turn to her tormentor and smile sinisterly as he lashed her. Bickslow _knew_ that look.

They led her to the center of their makeshift stage and forced her down to her knees in the burning sand under the even hotter sun; already her skin was beginning to blister. She spat a mouthful of congealed blood on the bottom robes of the nearest cleric; the man recoiled in disgust and Bickslow heard her laugh for the first time in nearly ten months at the look on the priests face. Her laugh still sounded like the local drunk at the bar had just told a dirty joke. Laxus muttered "what the hell was that?" under his breath, just close enough for Bickslow to hear and it made him smile. It was unfortunate that the occasion was tainted by the proceedings.

He inched as close to the arena as he could without drawing too much attention but it was clear she didn't appear to see him. Under normal circumstances she'd have picked him out of the crowd in a heartbeat but he wasn't sure what she could and couldn't pick up now with the restraints.

For her little act of rebellion one of the guards cracked the pummel of his sword into her cheek and she collapsed forward, her face touching the sand while she buried her fists deeper under its surface. He heard her groan and knew without the ability to heal, a blow like that could be lethal. And then she was laughing again and even Bickslow started questioning her sanity.

But he saw what she was doing before the others and he knew why she was laughing. Laxus stiffened in front of him, Bickslow could see that he was preparing to jump in when things went too far, so he nudged him and shook his head.

"Something's going on," He hushed.

"I can _see_ that. Your girlfriend is about to be _executed,_ moron," Laxus remarked sharply.

Bickslow snorted.

"Aside from the obvious, boss. Look around, this isn't a normal crowd and that's not her 'I'm about to _die_ laugh'," Bickslow wasn't wrong, she didn't look like a woman about to meet her end.

"Can Natsu hear us?" He whispered.

"Yeah," Laxus looked across the crowd to the other Dragon Slayer presently lingering out of easy sight in a darkened doorway. Natsu nodded. Keeping tabs on their conversation.

"Great," Bickslow smiled. Dragon Slayer hearing made this much easier. Laxus turned to give him a curious glare when she laughed again.

"I'm not sure what's more unsettling, the fact that she has an 'I'm about to die laugh' or you can even tell the difference. I ever get the urge to ask about your little adventures with your _almost_ girlfriend, remind me of this," He grinned. "There are some things I'm just better off _not_ knowing," His tone was flat. "For instance, like why she laughs like gramps after half a keg of ale."

Bickslow flashed him a smug grin.

"The last time she laughed like that, dude lost a hand," He could already see people in the crowd move around, repositioning themselves.

Under escort, a man in gold robes walked into the sand arena and was offered a scroll tied in blood red string by one of the priests.

"Do you know the punishment for heresy?" The announcement of his question was as much for the crowd as her.

She sat back on her haunches, smiling despite the ruination of her face. Already the side that had been hit was swelling beyond recognition. Bloody and purpling. Split deeply. The man stared hateful daggers at her when there was no response to his question just that red smile.

"You'll speak when commanded," He snarled, gesturing to her guards; the one at her side hitting her again, blood splattering his bronze helmet. She didn't so much as groan that time. The sound of the pummel cracking bone echoed loudly, making Bickslow flinch. He squeezed his eyes shut tightly for a moment to wipe the sight from his mind. She'd had, and healed from worse.

When it was clear she still wasn't going to answer, the officiate decided to move on. One of the priests handed him a long curved blade. Bickslow had seen one of them before. Jagged at the hilt and thinly curved at the end. They would cut her. Tiny, thin cuts, as many as it took to die. For some that was a few dozen, depending on the skill of the executioner, for others it could be hundreds or more. A truly horrendous way to die. Bickslow was glad he'd never had to witness such an execution.

The man in gold robes presented the guard who'd stuck her with the knife, and he removed his helmet, some blood had seeped in through the crevices in the mask and stained his face and head, the single braid running down his back was dripping. He handed the helmet to his comrade while three men came forward to hold her still. Bickslow felt his chest tighten. It was difficult to watch and from across the crowds he could see that Natsu was moving, even Laxus had crept forward, almost to the edge of the sand.

The first cut the executioner made was on her chest, just below the collarbone. Bickslow sucked in a shaky breath to calm himself down. If he left or moved too much it would draw attention to his presence and while the head and face coverings protecting him from the sun would hide his face and tattoo, his height was memorable. The cut didn't bleed much, a tiny trickle that barely marked the rags they'd dressed her in but in her condition every wound was a serious one. He'd no idea how much blood she'd already lost in the two days they'd clearly been torturing her.

The second cut he put on her face, right under the eye. That was the bleeder. For such a tiny wound a waterfall of blood torrented out of it, racing down her chin and neck. Bickslow's hands started shaking and he suddenly wasn't certain about any of it anymore. Did she even have a plan? Was her plan to actually die? In his chest there was a hard heavy thumping against his breastbone. A terror he wasn't certain he'd ever felt concerning anyone but her. He swore a silent promise that if he had to he would possess every single soul here today if it came down to it.

When the blade was raised for the third cut the man paused. Bickslow didn't have a clear view as the executioner was blocking most of her at that point, but he saw the men holding her stumble back. They moved like they were on a boat, disoriented and uncoordinated. People in the crowd were pushing at each other, there were shouts and yells and screams and Laxus had disappeared from in front of him to fight, but all Bickslow could see was Alma standing and pulling her hands out of the sand, the anti magic cuffs were gone, in her grip were the handles of her swords, the ones Jera had been wielding when they'd seen her. They'd been planted in the sand, waiting for her. The wounds were fading gradually, leaving bloody streaks and patches on her skin. Healed now that she had access to her magic again. There was a single swipe of her sword and the hand holding the dagger fell into the sand, still tightly clutching the hilt, its owner fell backwards with a yell only to have the second strike land across his exposed face, entering right under the eye but continuing through the skull. Mimicking the lastnwound he'd left on her.

Everything around Bickslow was moving; people were fighting but he was still just standing there. He could sense Pappa and Puppu engaging with some soldiers but he was only vaguely aware. They were independent enough to continue on their own with the briefest instruction. _Thankfully._ His entire mind was spun for a loop, and he wasn't quite sure what his other totems were doing.

Alma cut down the remaining soldiers in the ring with ease while they were still cluelessly fumbling about. The edge of her swords found the creases and joins in their armour with a knowing skill that came only from owning your own identical set. The small spaces at their hips and shoulders met sharp steel and they crumpled under the suddenly unbearable weight of the heavy armour they were wearing.

Time was an abstract concept for him now. It could have been minutes or hours or seconds. At some point some one swung for him and he sidestepped before taking them off their feet. His sudden movement drew her attention.

When she looked at him her swords faltered and she lowered her stance and he knew she could see him. See passed the material covering every inch of him. The shock and confusion and hundreds of other emotions he barely registered flitted across her eyes before her attention was drawn to one of the priests, a fire mage. In fact, the priests, they _all_ seemed to be fire mages.

The tsunami of flame that was sent sailing her way never reached her, colliding instead with Natsu who consumed every flicker of it laughing somewhat maniacally, before hitting the priest with a roar that took him off his feet and blasted him through two shop walls.

The crowds were long gone and suddenly Laxus was shoving Bickslow out of the square down one of the side streets. He had no idea where they were going. No idea how Laxus _knew_ where they were going but the lightning Dragon Slayer was running with a purpose. There was no way he didn't have a destination in mind. Rounding a corner they found Jera there waiting for them. She shared a moment with Laxus, and Bickslow knew they must have spoken again at some point.

Laxus elbowed him and Bickslow realized he'd been speaking but the Seith hadn't heard a word of it.

" _Hold...your...breath_!" Laxus enunciated to him slowly as though he were a child and Bickslow felt that he may have been suffering some sort of shock. He had a second to register Laxus' meaning before the sand under his feet gave way and suddenly there was nothing but cold, oppressive darkness and a crushing weight on his chest and his face. Sand tried to push its way into his mouth and up his nose but he held his breath as the earth around him kept shifting.

When he felt like his lungs were about to burst the pressure was gone and he found himself in a large enclosed chamber with one single door and no windows, Laxus appeared from the sand a moment later, Natsu was already waiting for them there, sitting cross legged and bored. Bickslow didn't care where they were, simply content to be able to breath again.

A man they hadn't seen before entered quickly. His hair braided in the traditional way, the sides shaved. His nose piercing was larger, hanging down against his upper lip. The expression he wore put them on edge. You didn't need to witness him practically taking the door off its hinges as he stormed in to know that this man was furious.

He spared them only a weary glance as he walked passed; they weren't the focus of his attention. Taking a spot he clenched and unclenched his fist in rage; waiting. Within a few moments the sand parted between them and Jera rose from the ground her hand on Alma's shoulder; the woman doubled over gasping for air while Jera looked completely unaffected. When she caught sight of him the easy going look on her face fell away and panic replaced it.

"Father, I'm..."

Jera didn't have a chance to finish when the man punched her, sending the youth careening to her knees. He pulled out a knife but Alma caught him hard by the wrist. Her grip was tight enough to leave a clear mark.

"If you're going to blame anyone, Eli, blame the tutor, not the pupil," She grit her teeth angrily. "I vouched for her. The consequences are mine," He let his gaze travel to Jera in consideration. Lokking wholly unconvinced. Alma stepped in front of him. " _Don't touch her again,_ " She sneered at him.

His expression softened at that and he reached out his other hand and attempted to wipe the blood off her chin but she pulled her head back and released his arm, stepping away from him. It was such an overly familiar gesture, too familiar for Bickslow's liking. The face she pulled told the Seith it was too familiar for hers as well.

"You take responsibility?" He asked carefully, glancing around the room at the others. The smile blooming on his face made Bickslow nervous.

"I take responsibility," She held her head up and locked eyes with him unflinchingly. He quickly swiped the blade across her face from the corner of her jaw to the bridge of her nose. Bickslow stepped forward but she held out her hand gesturing him to stay back.

"I don't know who you are," his eyes fell on Laxus's group. "...but I've been told you were of assistance and if Alma vouches for you, you may stay as long as you need to," He looked to Laxus. "You're in charge?"

"Yeah, I'm in charge," Laxus said still looking more than a little apprehensive.

"I would speak with you in private," Eli said, gesturing to the door, where the lightning mage followed him. Natsu was pulling off layers of clothing, happy he no longer needed to hide. From the look and smell of it, they were underground.

Alma helped Jera to her feet and grabbed a hold of her chin, checking her jaw. Other than a bloody lip and some bruising Alma seemed satisfied she wasn't too hurt.

"You have issues with timekeeping that will get you in trouble one of these days," Alma was clearly tired. The sheer amount of effort involved in healing her wounds would have been taxing normally, she'd had two days of interrogation and torture to accompany it. "Did you get to _any_ of them in time?" She asked Jera, mournfully dreading the answer.

"No," Jera intoned, lowering her eyes. "It was my fault. I should have been earlier. I'm sorry."

"Save those apologies for the dead and _don_ _'t_ repeat your mistakes. Now stay still," She told her.

Within seconds the bruise on Jera's face had faded and the cut lip was healed.

Jera turned to face the others. Their first meeting had been rocky. The circumstances pretty terrible all round and she'd cursed them fairly thoroughly. But what was certain was that they were on friendly terms. Alma was never wrong about who to trust. Jera waited expectantly for an introduction.

"This is Bickslow and Natsu," At hearing his name, Natsu raised a hand to identify himself. "The big one that left to speak to your father was Laxus. They're mages from the Fiorian guild Fairy Tail."

Jera seemed suddenly excited.

"I saw you _eat_ fire?" She moved over beside Natsu, a little closer than it seemed he was entirely comfortable with.

Where Alma had more muscle, smaller hips, Jera was curved in a lot of appealing places. Her skin was blemish free, and a deep earthen colour framed with dark hair. There was a time when he might have pursued her, but to his deep chagrin he just wasn't interested in women anymore. He felt absolutely nothing as he watched her circle Natsu like predator hovering over a piece of meat.

"Yeah, I'm a Dragon Slayer," Natsu remarked proudly puffing out his chest, grin as wide as a cheshire cat.

She ran a hand up his arm and he suddenly paused. Stiffening in discomfort.

"For crying out loud he just had a baby, you've more chance of that door having sex with you than him. Besides... this one is _particularly_ dense when it comes to that stuff and your competition is legitimately terrifying." Alma growled at her, rubbing her temples in exasperation. While Jera slunk back a bit, well and truly chastised.

Natsu pointed at Alma, affronted by the sentiment.

"Hey, I'm perfectly capable of picking up signals," He narrowed his eyes. "More than you guys, anyway. I _'_ _m_ in a happy relationship, _with_ a baby," He glowered.

"Yeah, only took you three years, man," Bickslow laughed at the fiery indignation on his face at that comment.

Alma was distant. It was hard to tell whether she was pleased to see them or not. The wound on her face still hadn't healed and Bickslow wondered just how much magic she had left. Low reserves had always been one of her problems.

He pulled off his head coverings and shook the sand from his hair. Despite being covered head to toe, he was still sandy in places best left unmentioned. He gave her a lobsided grin.

"Hey, Ali," He rumbled a little sheepishly. He watched her shift, uncomfortable and suddenly a little out of sorts. The air between them was more awkward than anything else. She appraised him without all the extra layers.

"I'm a little disappointed..." A feint smirk touched the corners of her lips. "I'd really thought you'd have gotten fat without any women in the monastery," She rasped.

He watched her lick her suddenly dry lips and smiled.

"Hard to get fat eating moss stew everyday," He joked.

"Guess not," Her voice came out as a soft rasp.

He made a point of looking round and spreading his arms, gesturing to where they were.

"Though, you went farther than I did," The joke didn't even land close and only served to infuriate her.

"You thought I came out here because of _you?"_ The realization that he thought she ran away like some upset child left her genuinely, visibly offended, and Bickslow started consciously tracking the whereabouts of her swords and any other sharp implements in range. "Do you know me at _all?_ You'd think I'd run from _anything?"_ She huffed. "I'm not _you!"_

"You get scared, just like everyone else," That was the truth. Maybe not the truth in this particular case, but there were things she was afraid of.

He had memories of a similar conversation ending with some bruised ribs. The recollection of her standard response to being told she was scared should have maybe told him he'd wandered off script from the explanation he'd promised he'd give her.

But he'd also sworn he'd be honest. Even if honesty wasn't what was currently required at present. The truth was no shield. And it certainly didn't stop the punch that landed out of nowhere and sent him sailing into the far wall.

"You're still a fucking asshole!" A visibly upset Alma was a rarity. Turning, she stalked out of the room. Bickslow groaned, pulling himself into a seated position on the sand, rubbing his tender jaw.

"I have no idea what I just witnessed," Jera muttered while Bickslow pulled himself up.

"Oh.. _yeah,_ that, you get used to it. The main rule is just never get involved," Natsu said knowingly while she stood with her mouth open having never so much as witnessed Alma raise more than her voice in anger. But she _cursed._ She curses. The thought of it almost blew her mind.

Natsu sauntered over and crouched down in front of a shaken Bickslow, rapping him on the top of his head comically checking for the hollow sound because it really seemed like they'd just crossed Ishgar to accuse one of the most prideful woman on the continent of cowardice. If Bickslow had wanted to do that and get his ass kicked he could have stayed at the guild and Erza could have done the same.

"Bix, your apologies suck balls," Natsu was grinning like a fool. "Did that go _anyway_ how you expected?" Natsu asked him. He was genuinely curious.

"Pretty much. She usually swings with her left, though. Man her right hook is _meeean._ The problems with ambidextrous people," Bickslow was laughing now. She hadn't knocked him out or broken anything. It wasn't nearly as bad as he'd been expecting.

She was exactly the same. The woman hadn't changed at all. He looked toward Jera.

"You don't happen to have any alcohol lying around?" Bickslow asked and Natsu groaned.

"I take it you've probably never seen her off her face drunk either?" Natsu elbowed Jera who looked at him bewildered by the very concept.

"She drinks?"

Bickslow looked at Jera and grinned deviously.

* * *

Notes

Thank you so much for all the reviews! Weezel474, Desna, kmmcm you guys are awesome!

For everyone following, hope you're enjoying it so far. :)


	5. Chapter 5

They were well funded. Organized. From what Fairy Tail had seen so far, more so than the Country's leaders. The official military had seen several high profile defectors. The nobility, the industrialists, they were pumping money into these rebellions. The wealthy were unhappy with the new, crippling taxes, the ordinary people were angry with just about everything else. The last decade had seen a soaring rise in forced military service and where once the fire priests would have sacrificed once a year, now they were willingly aiding the King, burning anyone he deemed to be trouble. It should have been self sacrifice; one priest sacrificing himself to the fire god they worshipped, but now they burned peasants. Ordinary people. Life in Atla had never been easy, even in the times Alma had talked about remembering, it had been downright _brutal._ The practices for training their soldiers was older than this King's reign, older than his family's reign. The practice of taking young boys and throwing them into pits to fight wild animals, or herding them with whips and spears across fields of dead bodies till they were no longer bothered by the sight and the smell of the dead was an old one. Atla was far from perfect. So very, very far.

When any kind of revolt generally took place, the revolutionaries hopes were always that things would be better if the people in charge were removed. That the replacements would be able to enact change, make things better.

Laxus didn't think that their leader, Eli, was any of those things. The man was ignorant, bigoted, just as cruel as the people they were fighting. _Exceedingly_ petty. While it was true, he'd lost a son, and a wife to the fire priests, he'd as much right as any to fight against that, he was not the right person to lead anything, and if the people following him were hoping for a better Atla when they won, Laxus could guarantee they wouldn't find it under him. That Alma seemed to be taking orders from him rankled the Dragon Slayer on a deep primal level. More than anyone she should be able to see the truth.

The only thing he could figure from that analysis was that Eli had leverage, and considering how protective Alma was over Jera, that was more than likely the case. The man had smiled when she'd taken Jera's punishment. He _enjoyed_ knowing he had leverage over her. Took pleasure in reminding her.

Why Alma was protecting the girl was another thing entirely. Laxus hadn't figured that out just yet. Then again. He hadn't had an opportunity to ask her. It was the easiest method of getting information out of her, just ask.

They were keeping them together, he noticed when he was led back to a large suit to find them all waiting. It was a large circular area with beds pressed against the walls. From what Laxus had determined, the entire complex was underground, a fact that made it quite impossible to work out where they actually were and even worse, he couldn't teleport out. While their cage was guided, it was still presently a cage, and while he was sure that it broke ground somewhere, for the moment, the only sure way he knew in and out was a sand mage. He was going to have to remind everyone to be nice to Jera. She was currently the only one they knew of that could get them out of here and might be so inclined to try.

When he arrived to their accommodations, Bickslow was nursing a swollen jaw with an easy grin that told Laxus it hadn't gone as badly as the Seith was expecting. Natsu was in the corner playing some sort of board game with Jera, and from the look of frustration on her face, absolutely annihilating her at it. Laxus poured himself a drink and sat to watch; Bickslow had somehow managed to acquire several bottles of something Laxus was wagering, from the smell, was alcoholic to the point of body toxicity and _death._ It went down like rubbing alcohol and he set the glass aside after two sips. Getting shitfaced was probably not going to be wise.

He watched Natsu beat her over and over again and could almost laugh. It was too easy for a Dragon Slayer to win with a game based on deception. Natsu could hear her heart beat, smell spikes in anxiety and sweat. Not even the element of chance was going to be enough to counter that kind of living lie detector.

"How's the face?" Laxus offered Bickslow the open bottle, and while he took it, he set it aside without drinking.

"Not too bad. How was your meeting with the glorious leader of this revolution?" Bickslow asked him, it seemed like he'd already reached a conclusion as to whether he liked the man, and if Eli had been hoping to win Bickslow over, or any of them for that matter by slicing open Alma's face in front of them, well, he was sorely mistaken.

"Not well. Guy is a certified scumbag. And we're in a _den_ of somewhat unpleasant individuals. His _plan_ was for Alma to get captured. They needed to find a way to draw out one of the King's officiates and a high profile execution was a good way to do it," Laxus explained, watching Bickslow's face twist into one of angry disbelief.

Capture and two days of torture, only Alma knew what kind, and that had been his idea all along. They could have chosen to kill her. She could have died from her injuries before any of that happened. It was stupid and reckless and Laxus was convinced Eli was purposefully putting her in harms way. The man was a little bit of a sadist.

"I have this sudden urge to make him slow dance naked in a public place," Bickslow remarked, his lips pursed in a tight line. "What about the men they burned, where did they fall into this?" Bickslow was confused.

"They didn't. Alma only agreed if she could have a shot at saving them," The realization that he hadn't cared about helping anyone made the show he'd put on of punishing his daughter one born out of pure cruelty. He didn't care about the loss of lives, as far as he would be concerned, the mission was a success.

"You don't happen to know any Seith spells that can message Alma and let her know we need to talk?" Laxus asked. They weren't permitted to wander about unsupervised.

Bickslow seemed smug. "Sure do," He sat up and shouted across the room. "Laxus wants to speak to Alma, think you're up for a short trip?" He asked their resident sand mage.

Jera looked miserably at the game board and sighed, now knowing that she wasn't going to be winning any time soon. Not against Natsu. Stupid, smug, grinning Natsu. The ground literally opened up to swallow her, spewing a puff of sand into Natsu's face in some sort of vengeance as she left.

"Seith magic my ass," Laxus chuckled.

Bickslow spread his hands wide.

"The magic power of asking nicely," He replied.

It didn't take long before Jera returned with Alma in tow. Unhappy about being summoned like some sort of servant. Bickslow could see the toll the last few days had had on her. The dark circles on her overly pale face made her look borderline sickly.

"Would you be able to give us a few minutes, Jera?" Alma asked her. She gave her a concerned look but agreed, leaving via the door. No doubt she wouldn't be going far.

"This isn't a mission but you're still a member of the guild and I'm only gonna ask nicely once," Laxus crossed his arms in an absolutely no nonsense way. "What the _fuck_ is going on here?"

She took a seat at the small table in their room and grabbed the open bottle of alcohol left there. She took a deep draught of it and coughed a little.

"I've already figured out why you haven't fed that guy his own balls, but what I want to know is why Jera is _that_ important. You're clearly only staying for her," Laxus appeared calm. Much calmer than he felt. He was filled with a trepidation about this whole thing.

"She used to be my niece," She laughed. "I was in Stella when I found out they'd executed her mother and brother. I wouldn't have even known if they hadn't been in the Boscan Embassy at the time and they'd made such a spectacle of dragging them outside and murdering them in the street," He hadn't realized, she was here because she was grieving.

"So what, you come out here to join the revolution and get revenge?" Laxus's tone was curt.

 _"No._ I came to pay my respects. Then I realized that Jera's father had all but gone to war over it and he'd left her sitting in the middle. I decided to do something about it," Taking Jera under her wing had been some desperate attempt to protect her.

"Do they know?" Bickslow asked.

 _"No._ They _don't._ The guy's trying to secretly kill me cause he can't get in my pants. I have absolutely _no_ idea how to tell him that I thought he was Boro shit even back when I was his _brother in-law_ , so I'm really not going to _try,"_ She snapped at Laxus. "You think I don't know what he's doing? Of course I do," Her face was resolute.

"So exactly what's your plan here?" Bickslow asked her. More comfortable knowing she hadn't been buying what Eli was selling, so to speak.

"Eli and his support are about to find themselves on the end of the pirate plank and I'm gonna make sure she's still here after the revolution's leadership changes hands. But that's not all," Bickslow quirked an eyebrow amusedly at the pirate reference. "She's already pretty much made herself the most unappealing wife by Atlan standards, so Eli's had a hard time finding her a husband...even if he's not removed, he's just as likely to have her killed if he can't marry her off," Alma spoke with a conviction Bickslow had never heard before. "His wife and son's execution garnered him a lot of sympathy."

"And you're worried if public opinion starts waning he'll make her some sort of martyr? There are a lot of 'ifs' in there, Ali," Laxus didn't seem even remotely convinced.

"I know it's already his plan for _me._ And that's why as far as he knows, my magic is healing. If he knew what either of us..." She looked at Bickslow and back at Laxus. "...could do, we would be in _serious_ trouble. His own men are a hair away from slitting his throat while he sleeps. We would be enough to ensure he stays in control."

Laxus felt his stomach drop. It wasn't the first time he'd let slip something without knowing its importance. Her eyes widened in shock at his internal revelation. She could still read them all like a book and he was sure his panic was pretty visible.

"Mortal danger within thirty minutes _?"_ Bickslow honestly couldn't believe it himself. "Well, that might just be a new record, boss," It really might have been.

In fairness, Laxus didn't outright say it. Eli had asked what magics they possessed so he could gauge the threat they posed if he let them out. Laxus told him that Bickslow was a Seith but in the process used the phrase "similar to Alma". He hadn't thought it important at the time, not until realizing just how much she was keeping from the man and why.

"You think it slipped by him?" Natsu asked.

When Laxus and Eli had parted, the man had been smiling. A very similar smirk to the one he'd worn cutting up Alma's face.

"I think we need to get out of here," Laxus muttered.

Alma tood straight up and the others followed, Laxus could already hear the footsteps outside and the muffled yelp from Jera.

When the door opened Eli came in, dragging his daughter by the hair with him and flanked by two other armed men. They didn't look altogether unsympathetic. Eli looked unhinged.

" _Two_ Seith mages," Bickslow mumbled angrily under his breath while Laxus groaned. Alma just glared. Jera's father looked incensed.

"How _dare_ you!" He rasped, snarling at Alma and pulling out a blade and pressing it to a stunned Jera's throat. "A soldier must have no loyalty greater than that they show to their commander," The men flanking him exchanged a look he didn't see. "You would try and make a fool of me?" He shook Jera's head by the hair. Her eyes had teared up. Shock, horror, pain, all the things to be expected at the realization that your father was willing to kill you. "I will show you how I reward traitors," He pressed the blade against her throat hard enough to draw blood.

Bickslow felt the air crackle with Alma's temper. Flanking him, Natsu and Laxus were gearing up for a fight.

Ali looked to the others accompanying them

"Is this the future you're really fighting for?" It was clear from the looks on their faces it wasn't. The loyalty of his men had been waning greatly as of late and Alma knew it. She locked her gaze with one of the men. The one most likely to listen. He was an honorable man. "I thought Atla no longer wanted to sacrifice their children?" Her words didn't fall on deaf ears and the man closest to Eli pulled out his sword and pressed it into his back.

"You _scum!"_ He roared. The curses that spewed from his lips were almost unintelligible. The man at his rear pressed the sword in so hard Eli flinched.

When he dropped the blade from Jera's throat she tore herself away from him angrily. She clutched at her throat her fingers coming back stained with red. An instant later Eli found himself buried up to the neck in sand at their feet. Jera was shaking.

The man who'd drawn his sword kicked Eli in the face, splattering blood on the sand.

"I watched my younger brother die in the dead fields, his body left to rot in the sun while I lived. I realized his was the luckier fate. I want better for my own children," He exchanged unspoken words with his comrades. One of whom closed the door behind them.

He looked to them all before focusing on Alma.

"You two can really make people do what you want?" He asked her. His eyes were stern. Serious.

 _"He_ can. I can make them feel what I want them to feel. Influence how they think and act. Change how they view things sometimes," She explained the difference.

"And yet you didn't use this magic to help us?" He ground out accusingly.

"Who says I didn't?" Her anger rushed forward. "Eli has an unfortunate habit of killing captives and what I do is not an _instant_ magical solution to victory. It takes patience and care and it _doesn't_ work on corpses. In the last few months people have donated more. There have been more joining us. I kept their anger directed," It was how she thought, how she practiced her magic. Subtlety instead of raw power. Timing and caution. It was why she was teaching Jera. They were all the qualities she presently lacked.

The soldier put away his sword.

"They speak highly of you in some circles here, I don't think they do you justice, madam" He bowed to her and she turned a funny shade of grey. Jera let a smile crack the sadness on her face.

Alma bowed in response, despite clearly being offended. But if power was changing hands, it was best to play nice. Bickslow and the Dragon Slayers would have been more than capable of taking this fortress down. But that was an option best avoided. It didn't currently seem necessary.

"I think your plans have probably hastened?" Alma asked him. Jarod was a prominent face in Eli's group and unknown to the man had been one of his main critics. Jera had sat down on the edge of Laxus's cot and was staring at her father's unconscious face. Clearly conflicted. It was to be expected. She was a good person. And despite his numerous heinous faults, she still loved her father.

"Yes, but our main concern was _you._ We weren't sure where your sword would fall," The admission gave Alma pause. "You...are a difficult person to read," He hushed. Bickslow laughed out loud, earning him a sideways glare from Alma. She took a breath to calm herself.

"It's with Jera. I don't care about him."

Jera's eyes widened in panic and she pulled a sword and stood over her father.

"I don't care what he's done. I _won't_ let you kill him," Her voice was shaking but her sword was steady.

The man actually smiled at her.

"Despite the sentiment of your father, it is no crime to love your family," Her sword wavered. He seemed to take joy in the expression of pure emptiness on her face.

"I don't understand..." She muttered.

Alma took the sword from her hand.

"I'll make sure he isn't harmed, but he just threatened to _kill_ you, Jera, I understand you're confused but he's _not_ a good man," The young woman considered her words and begrudgingly relinquished her weapon. Alma led her back to the bed and sat her down again, it was clear she was still in shock.

"We'll need you all to stay here for the time being. We can't guarantee your safety outside this room," Jarod intoned.

Laxus looked at him seriously while Natsu snorted. A ball of flame hitting the ground at Alma's feet.

"We can take care of ourselves, trust us, anyone knocking down the door to start anything is going to find themselves instantly regretful," Bickslow muttered cockily sittin back down on his bed and rested against the wall.

Jarod laughed, the light flicking across his face highlighting an identical cut to the one Alma had worn. From the jaw to the bridge of her nose. A thin, barely visible scar. The mark of an old failure.

 _"Undoubtedly."_

When they left, they locked the door behind them while everyone suddenly started shifting nervously. It was quiet out. There were no roars or explosions. No shouts or screams. Only silence and the heartbeats of the three men left outside their door to keep watch.

Hours had passed with absolutely nothing happening. Occasionally Natsu grumbled about being hungry or Bickslow about being bored. Alma sat with one of the bottles drinking studiously while Jera stared at her, not quite knowing what to do with the living proof that her idolized teacher might just be like everyone else ; presently attempting to console herself with alcohol while Eli was still trapped in the ground and unconscious. Laxus looked like he was meditating.

Bickslow was beginning to understand just how much Alma liked goals, approaching everything like a mission. Initially Calus had been her assigned task, but she'd found a new one protecting Jera, and now that that looked like it might be unnecessary and she was left in limbo again. No target to aim for.

She was looking for _purpose._ Or some reason to keep going when she clearly didn't feel she should be here at all. Looking to earn her right to the life she'd been given. It was such a pure sentiment, despite the obvious flaws in it: she was alive; there were no magical scales she had to balance to stay that way.

"I actually can't believe I'm saying this," Bickslow sighed scratching at his head like the very words he were about to say he'd never said before. There was a chance that was true. "But I think you've maybe had enough," He outstretched his hand for the bottle but she just stared at him before slamming it down on the table top.

"That's _rich,"_ She growled at him. "As far as I know, _I_ say when I've had enough, _su'parro_ ," She made sure to purr the last word and Laxus coughed at the colour now rushing up Bickslow's face. _Kitten._ The Seith was beginning to see why all the hatred when he called her 'sweetpea'.

"I'm just saying you may want to ease up on the drinking. I know you can magic your way out of the hangovers but it's probably not the time to be drunk," Even in his own head that sounded far too sensible for him.

"Do I look anyway _close_ to drunk?" An eyebrow rose questioningly while she sat forward, tense and aggravated.

The Dragon Slayers groaned. The lack of privacy was bothering them. Even Jera was weary watching them bicker.

"I'd ask you two to take it outside but were stuck in here for the moment, so cool it. You're giving me a headache," Laxus snarled. Behind him Natsu was lying face down on a bed with a pillow over the back of his head. Trying to shield himself from it.

"Maybe you want some privacy?" Jera asked Bickslow.

"You can do that?"

Before Bickslow had even finished speaking a wall had risen sectioning him and Alma off from the others. Their area now consisted of a table two cots and wall lacrima for light. There was no door and from the other side of the sand wall he swore he heard Natsu cheering.

"We've been betrayed!" Alma said, completely serious.

Bickslow sat down beside her.

"It does fucking look like that doesn't it?" He threw his head back and laughed. "Fuck it, give me that bottle!"

She smiled and held it out to him. He took a generous swig and almost choked.

"What the hell is this stuff made out of?" The words were gasped out as Bickslow felt the alcohol wash an entire layer of his stomach away.

"Root...fermented in a leathered Boro stomach," She deadpanned, smirking when his face went green. "I should hate you. But I just don't. Why the fuck can't I stay mad at you?" Exasperated she threw herself back on the bed.

The alcohol she'd drunk wasn't enough to floor her but it was certainly enough to get her talking.

"I'm just too lovable to hate for long," He stuck out his tongue at and he watched her blush.

"So, what exactly what was your plan when you found me? You clearly weren't gonna apologise to me. So what, try and buy me with something?" There was no mistaking how serious she was.

"I was gonna kiss you till you forgot how badly I fucked up," Bickslow blurted out in earnest.

She stared at him long and hard before bursting out in laughter.

"You really think highly of yourself, don't you?" She took another mouthful from the bottle pausing to consider. "Alright. Put your money where your mouth is. You get your kiss..." His jaw went slack. "And if I'm still mad at you, I get one thing from you, and you won't get to know what till then," She held out her hand for him to shake and he smiled, standing, grabbing her outstretched hand and pulling her into him. The sudden contact made her squeak softly with surprise.

"Now?" She questioned, startled by the prospect that he agreed so quickly.

"No time like the present," The atmosphere kept changing between them. Already so volatile. Bickslow wasn't going to wait for her to second guess this.

He slid one hand down to her hip and held her to him. The instant he touched the bare skin on her face with his fingers was like he'd just palmed lightning; pure energy was rushing through his body, from his toes to his skull. Her eyes swallowed him whole and when he finally let his hand come to rest against her cheek they fluttered closed. She was sensitive to touch. The reason why she was currently almost completely covered; only her head and hands left bare. Bickslow had never seen her allow anyone else to do more than shake her hand and there was a new delight in watching her practically melt at _his_ touch; shuddering under the barest, briefest attention. The lightest contact.

It was hedonic, just how much control, how much power she relinquished over to him. He was a Seith mage, for most women he was a thrill. Nothing more. That little flicker of fear that they were sleeping next to a man that, if he wanted to, didnt have to take no for an answer. But while he was certain that Ali was capable of fear, it wasn't a fear of what he was able to do and right at this moment she was choosing to trust him, when he knew she barely trusted herself so much of the time.

With a careful hand, he angled her head back and leaned in close, brushing her nose with his before grazing her lips. She trembled into him while he tried to express a years worth of feeling in that first kiss. He was sure her magic let her feel every single iota of it; there were no need for words anymore. He just didn't think he had it in him to verbalize it all, anyway.

The hand at her hip slowly traced its way around to the small of her back and trailed a gentle path up, falling to a stop between her shoulder blades where the tempo changed; Alma responding now to every movement with open need, pulling at him with something just shy of outright aggression. Bickslow was none to gently reminded of just how strong she was, losing his balance briefly as she yanked him hard against her. He nipped at her bottom lip turning the lightest of sighs into the most delicious moan.

The whole thing made Bickslow feel like he'd been asleep for a year, in the cold and dark, only to all of a sudden be wide awake. Alive and gasping for breath. Blood pumping in his ears.

He clung to her with a desperation he had no explanation for and she groaned against him; at her invitation he deepened the kiss with an almost feverish desire to experience as much as he could before this came to a grinding halt; all the while her hands wrapped themselves in the shirt at his hips, hungrily pulling; pressing the length of herself against him.

For those minutes she was everything in his entire world. The feel of her damp skin under his fingertips, the sound of her gasping breath and pounding heartbeat. He pulled away only to rest his head in the hallow of her shoulder; calm his racing pulse; letting his hand run through her still short hair.

When he drew back she teetered on her feet a little from the sudden loss of contact, but then she looked at him and smiled a smile that reminded him of the first time he saw her. Wild and untameable.

"Guess what?" She asked, with a pleased look about her.

He barely heard her, blinking stupidly in the wake of whatever that happened to be, because a regular kiss had never left him feeling like the world had been turned on its axis. And right now, everything was all over the place for him

"What?" Bickslow summoned the nerve to ask.

She stood up on her toes and pulled him by the back of his head down so she could whisper in his ear. Her words were raspy.

" _I'm still mad at you_ ," She finished her sentence by nipping at his lobe and he almost lost the power to stand with the volume of blood that rushed from elsewhere in his body straight into his _groin._ He didn't think he'd ever wanted any woman as badly as he currently wanted her.

Was his plan not to kiss her till _she_ forgot? He was fairly sure that's what he told Laxus on the train. Instead here he was the one left breathless with his senses addled. For a moment he genuinely forgot where he was. Life was really throwing him some curve balls lately.

A thought suddenly struck him.

"Fuck, you might actually be a _better_ kisser," He laughed like a fool. Apparently her sharp tongue was skilled for more than comebacks and dark comments. With a sly look she flicked him in the forehead.

"And _you_ owe me one undisclosed request," Bickslow should have been worried, that gleam in her eye should have concerned him, but right now he couldn't care less.

"Name it and I'll die happy seein' it done," and he meant every word of that. One kiss. Just one and he knew that Laxus was right. He was a Seith mage with the power to possess souls, and yet he was fairly sure that she all but owned his.

"I'll come back to you on that," Lips raw she wandered back to the other cot and sat down. Beyond the wall Jera had erected, Bickslow could hear people speaking. Alma glanced at the barrier knowingly. "Jarod's back and he seems pleased. Looks like you'll have a chance to get out of here soon enough," The comment sent a bolt of panic through him.

"Oh, I don't know. It's been a pretty crappy trip so far. And Laxus kinda promised Natsu a crack at that temple if he behaved," He waved off how he was feeling at the thought of leaving. "Besides, I think I've run enough."

* * *

Notes

So much love for my reviewers, Desna and Rachel3003 and everyone following so far. :)

Desna- I completely do the same thing when I get your updates. Lol They come in often times about 4am local time and they get read there and then.

Hope you enjoyed the ending of this one Rachel... ;)


	6. Chapter 6

He wasn't sure what he'd been expecting afterward. Alma wasn't the type of woman that was going to be suddenly fawning over him. He wasn't envisioning moonlight strolls, hand in hand or any public displays of affection. But even before that physical wall came down he could see how shaky she'd started becoming. When he kissed her she'd enthusiastically responded. And then her eyes seemed to lose that lustre they'd had, a million ambiguous emotions flittering across her face before she completely clammed up and Bickslow was back at step one of the 'how to date Ali' guidebook.

Laxus gave them a practiced smug look that told them both he knew precisely what they'd been up to. Ali not only chose to pretend nothing had happened, but worse, in the two days that followed she'd chosen to avoid him completely rather than risk a repeat. Skipped regular meals with them. Jera had noticed and was moderately concerned for her. It was uncharacteristic for Alma to purposefully avoid something that bothered her.

When they'd parted he thought it had been in a good place but he'd clearly put his foot in it somewhere.

The underground compound wasn't as large as they'd been expecting, still pretty big but there were only maybe forty people there at any time making it feel for the most.t, unsettlingly empty. The big shocker came when they asked where they were, struggling to wrap their minds around the fact that on top of this place existing at all, there were in fact three more and they could be _moved;_ it required a handful of Sand mages working in unison but the entire compound could be shifted under the sands, keeping the cells isolated and impossible to locate from the surface. Even if you found it by chance, it could be miles away within hours. The mages would then open small fissures to the surface to cycle out the air and ensure no one suffocated but even if they didn't they had enough air for days if not more. Bickslow had no idea how deep they were but it was deep enough for the compound to be relatively cold in comparison to the heat of the surface.

Their shifting location was probably why it took him nearly half a day to get his babies down to him. They'd argued with him, straight up to the point of him commanding them to obey and leave their vessels; the loss of their usual homes had them sulking, the totems out of reach they now had to take residence in some children's toy's Jera had managed to acquire for him. It had been unavoidable, really, their souls could find him, but not while they were in their physical containers stuck up on the surface, and the rebellion interlopers were still for all intents and purposes stuck underground while things settled. They were currently being moved. Which they all found fascinating, especially considering none of the Dragon Slayers were feeling a thing.

It should have been a nice break, from the heat, from the stress, but the issue with Alma was really starting to bother Bickslow; who couldn't quite work out if her reaction was a rejection or not. Working for a relationship had never really been something he'd had to do before. The longest one he'd had had been, dare he say it, _easy._ They'd never fought. The sex was great. They'd just fallen together into this wonderfully simple exhange. But then again, easy wasn't exactly synonymous with long lasting; Jess hadn't been a mage so he'd done his best to keep his work and her separate, and while she knew what he could do, what his magic entailed, she'd never seen it, experienced it. And then all of a sudden she _had._ When he'd exhausted so much effort in keeping them apart at home, it had never crossed his mind that the two, his job and his girlfriend, would collide at some point. And collide they had.

It should have been a quick job clearing out the booby traps left in the road and taking out the bad guys _,_ they weren't exactly a threat to him, but then she'd been there, walking into town along a roadway _filled_ with mines designed to blow the wheels off passing carriages.

She couldn't hear what he was screaming to her, or maybe his frantic arms made it seem like he was waving to her instead, but she didn't stop, and with his totems busy he'd done the only thing he could do to save her life. Some people could brush it off the aftereffects of his figure eyes, but for Jess Morrigan, suffering a possession had legitimately been the most terrifying experience of her life.

She wasn't a mage. Had never been involved in a fight. _Hated_ violence. All of a sudden she was linked to his totems, a sudden puppet, unable to move and only aware of the distant exhilaration he was taking from beating six men senseless. It had been almost instinctual; how easy he'd resorted to his magic.

But Bickslow knew what he'd done had been nothing short of a violation; an uninvited intrusion, a violence against her, and granted, It had been to protect her, but it didn't change the trauma that came with the experience.

Bickslow the Seith was a _stark_ contrast to the man she'd fallen in love with. When it was over and the thieves were a semi conscious pile of mewling bodies, she'd gone into shock. It had landed her in a recovery ward for over a week while she slowly managed to claw back some semblance of self. Mid-fight and in a panic, he hadn't been gentle and she'd suffered for it. She forgave him, so, so, so easily, even though he couldn't quite forgive himself, but it didn't stop the event from becoming this horrible dark cloud that hung over them, between them. She'd started flinching away from him when he'd touch her. Pulled back when he kissed her. Her personality had undergone a shift.

The woman had had a glimpse into his magic, into his soul, and she couldn't live with what she saw there. Bickslow knew it was the end for them when he realized that what she'd seen, experienced, was no where near as dark as Seith magic got and it got _so_ much worse.

He'd loved her more than anything else in the world but there hadn't been any way for them to move passed it. He legitimately had sworn himself off relationships in the wake of the heartbreak. Sex was a nice way to relieve the stress, a way to briefly dispel the loneliness, but it was hard to consider the prospect of going through that again.

The whole thing was probably why he'd stopped practicing with his magic as much. Why he stopped _studying._ For a long time after, he'd grown to live with the idea that his magic might be genuinely evil, but he'd seen the various magics centered around control and he knew better now. There was magic like Alma's, like Calus'. The difference between them being how they were used. The magic he practiced may have been dark, but it wasn't evil, not if he chose for it not to be. The evil, or lack of, was all up to him and how he decided to use it. Dark magic he supposed was simply the most likely to corrupt. And Seith magic could be so tempting to abuse. The idea that you could make someone do whatever you wanted was seductive for some. Undoubtedly the reason it had such a bad reputation; there were history books filled with prime examples of evil Seith mages. Bickslow swore when he was younger that he would never become one of them.

He knew already that it wouldn't be the same with Ali. The woman thought he was lazy with his magic, and she wasn't wrong. The drive to push his abilities just hadn't been there for a long time, though his time up north had given him the opportunity to practice. It was the only thing he could really do besides his job.

Out of everyone who knew him, Alma probably understood his power the best. She'd even experienced it more than once, and it certainly didn't scare her, probably never would. He'd thought she'd been exaggerating when she'd said she'd made demons weep, and then the sobering realization when they'd fought Calus that it _wasn't_ an empty boast.

For Bickslow, this backward forwards stuff was new and exceedingly frustrating. He poked at his food nearly ready to pull his hair out. The woman made him feel _crazy._

He'd somehow fallen for a woman far removed from his usual type. The women he chased were warm and soft spoken, flirty, curvy, with long slender legs that he could wrap himself up in.

And Ali laughed like a hoarse sailor, had a set of hard abs that had Laxus questioning what she ate to keep the muscle tone; she was crude, rude and hated his favorite foods; the woman was an _obnoxiously_ fussy eater with appalling table manners.

Whatever had drawn him to her hadn't been her looks or her body; it hadn't been anything he could instantly put his finger on, it didn't happen overnight and it seemed to be that he'd resisted it evey step of the way. He was afraid of putting himself in that kind of position again. But the truth of it was he was still in love with her, and everyone had seen it coming but him.

Her blowing colder than an arctic wind within minutes of kissing him, left him confused and more than a little hurt. Alcohol had _absolutely_ been a mistake, maybe not the sole cause of this but Bickslow was absolutely certain it was a factor. Certainly, she hadn't drunk enough for it to have completely coloured her actions, but he was positive it played a part in her reaction.

In a distant part of his brain he tussled with the idea that maybe it was some sort of punishment for his past behaviour? He _had_ essentially run out on her, but he didn't think so; subtle with magic, direct to the point of ludicrousness with _everything_ else. She'd have come out and said it if he'd outright done something he shouldn't have.

The Fairy Tail mages stayed well out of the way of the so called revolutionaries. Bickslow wasn't so naive as to believe Jarod completely at face value. Laxus was with him on that front. The man wasn't the worst, not even close when compared with some of his compatriots, but he was keeping secrets, and Bickslow always developed an itch when it came to people hiding stuff. That uncontrollable urge to dig it out would get them in trouble; it was smart to stay as far out of the way as possible.

Their biggest support underground came not from Alma, but from Jera. The displacement of her father had succeeded in driving somewhat of a wedge between her and the others. They were waiting to see just how she would react and she no longer trusted them to the same extent that she once did. She retained close ties to them, but her loyalties were suddenly being called into question. Fairy Tail seemed to be the only friendly third party she trusted enough to turn to.

Eli had been imprisoned, and while the conditions of his confinement were infinitely better than any of the captives he himself had kept, he was still a prisoner and treated as such. But Alma was telling the truth when she said they wouldn't kill him. They all knew, Jera included, that despite her own personal feelings on the matters, Alma wouldn't let them make a liar of her.

As Bickslow had soon discovered there were a lot of regular people involved in this; craftsmen, healers, servants, people living on the streets. Ex-soldiers actually made up a very small percentage of rebels. They were the visible face, but not the force behind the movement, most of which continued unseen.

Most of the sand mages and beast masters in their ranks were either craftsmen or traders; market sellers no longer able to deal with the taxes and the downturn of the economy. The beggars on the streets passed messages and intelligence between the cells and because they were largely ignored, remained an almost invisible source of information. The healers did what healers did best and kept them all alive when things went south. There were three other cell leaders in Atla besides Eli; the man wasn't alone despite what Bickslow had originally assumed.

Despite the brief explanation Alma had given them, Bickslow figured out that the true start of this revolution began long before they mobilized an armed force. It began with a proclamation from the King removing the nobilities exemption from mandatory military service and a tax hike. He was born in Bosco, and any Boscan could have told you to be wary of aggravated aristocrats or anyone with money. In Bosco, a simple tax had started a war that raged for nearly fifty years, dividing the nation and almost sinking the Kingdom in debt. Their plan to raise capital had backfired spectacularly and while they fought amongst themselves they lost territories and vital resources to their neighbours. It beggared belief that a nation as small at this one would be quite so short sighted as to follow that particular example. They were a proud, brutal people in Atla, there would only ever be so much that they would take before something broke.

And so, for the first time in Atlan history, every boy regardless of their families wealth or connections would be forced to undergo the trials; the brutal training that killed half of all the children that undertook it. It would force them to torture their friends, to murder, to follow commands no matter how heinous or depraved they happened to be. It was only natural that the nobles kicked up a fuss. In Atlan law, children were held to the same legal standards as adults. Popular rumour made it seem far worse that it actually was, but those laws gave the country the power to execute children for ridiculous things like disobedience and lack of respect. Desertion, too.

The change in laws gave birth to a system whereby the nobles would smuggle their children out of Atla, putting them up in the neighbouring provinces so they couldn't be taken. Eventually the poorer people started catching on and an underground movement began. Quite literally underground. These subterranean fortresses were originally capable of moving hundreds of children and families, in and out of Atla under the sands, unseen and in relative comfort. Jera's mother and brother had been involved with this in their older years, having benefited from it when Jera was a child. Their deaths only served to escalate one of a number of underlying problems the people now had with the King. On top of driving her father seemingly mad.

To make it worse, it wasn't just boys that were taken from families. When he'd seen Alma at her execution she was wearing an anklet with a bell. A symbol of female subservience. To be seen but never heard. Walking too quickly or taking too large steps resulted in the bell chiming. For a wife or a daughter, depending on the mindset of the leading man in their lives, this could earn them a beating. For a slave, they felt the lash of a steel tipped whip. If a noble fell into poverty and was of no use to the Kingdom, his daughters were taken and sold to slavers if their family couldn't marry them off in time.

Jera and her brother were spared all of this, growing up in one of the disputed border towns where the Atlan guard wouldn't patrol. They grew up without the weight of oppression on their shoulders or the somewhat xenophobic beliefs of their people following them.

Jera learned to wield a sword and her brother studied law. She'd grown up free to do what she wanted, with a brother and mother that loved her and a glimpse into how other societies did things. How much better that was.

She learned about the female Atlan warriors, because while they were cut from all texts in Atla, their neighbours remembered them and still whispered to disobedient children how they'd come for them in the darkness, up out of the sand if they misbehaved.

When her mother and brother were killed she found herself now in the care of a stern, still somewhat traditional father. She was certainly no quiet, soft stepping virgin he could marry off, and he was left at a loss with what to do with her. Too wild for tradition. Too stubborn. Too reckless. Too heartbroken. But despite everything, the men under his command seemed to like her. She was no slouch with a weapon and she was eager to fight. When Jera realized that she couldn't simply expect their respect, she worked very hard to earn it.

Alma had apparently come out of absolutely nowhere. Disciplined with a sword. Trained for war. A skilled healer; as skilled at restoring life as she was at taking it, and Bickslow knew that when it came down to it, she could kill in a thousand ways, only _choosing_ not to. If you fought her and lived, that was at her discretion.

In a lot of ways, Jera had latched onto Alma like an older sister. A role model. Because like her, Alma didn't conform to Atla's ways. She was tied inextricably to it, but didn't entirely fit in and probably never would. Just like Jera, who could never honestly call the foreign place she only vaguely remembered from her early, the place where her family was murdered, her home. Alma was probably considered stranger than Jera, she at least they recognized as a young woman; a young woman with a reputation for taking men to bed and laughing while she kicked them out the other side once she'd had her fun, but that made her a somewhat softer mirror of her more introverted role model, who walked and talked like a soldier, sat with her legs spread like a man and had _zero_ tolerance for disrespect or refused point blank to be touched in any way.

It hadn't bedn lost on them that Alma seemed to be more tightly wound than she had been back at the guild; in the months since they'd parted she'd become even more withdrawn.

Jera had never even heard her laugh till they'd arrived. Choking on her breakfast the first time she'd heard it, Natsu recanting the story of how Lucy had Virgo drag him through a nettle bush while drunk and Alma laughing hysterically at the mental image. Jera had _zero_ idea that a large part of Alma's magic involved _singing._

"So what, she puts people to sleep with lullaby's?"

"Yeah, and other stuff. It makes those little threads of hers easier to weave in and a lot more effective," Laxus was watching him speak with her from a far table. He looked disinterested, but Bickslow knew he was listening intently. He hadn't taken an interest in her magic till he'd fallen afoul of it. A sleepwalking Dragon Slayer with a kink for violating street posts was one for the record books. "She can stitch souls together as well. She's probably not the strongest mage, but her magic is certainly one of the most dangerous," Bickslow wasn't sure what he was presently eating but it wasn't half bad. A little chewy but Freed had cooked and served far worse.

"She doesn't talk about herself much," Jera admitted. It was sinking in just how little she knew about her teacher and the woman didn't like it. "When she does, it's usually accidental," She reached over and pulled a piece of meat off Bickslow's plate and absently he wondered if she'd ever tried that with Alma. He couldn't see any fork mark shaped scars in her hands so he doubted it.

"If you ask her, she'll tell you,"

She looked at him blankly.

"Just like that?" She stared at him, somewhat dumbfounded.

"Just like that," He grinned, inching his plate of food away from her just in case she attempted a second grab. "I can't promise it'll be a pleasant conversation but she doesn't lie," He wanted to warn her away from the topics of her origins, Ali was unique in a lot of scary ways, but he didn't. It wasn't his right to go blabbing on the subject. Alma did things at her own pace. When she wanted to tell her, she would.

In the communal eating area a large man in armour passed him with a limp and a scowl that Bickslow automatically read as Ali related. There was a look large men seemed to get when decimated by a woman a foot or two shorter than them. And this guy was wearing one right now. Alma was probably wherever they went to train, knocking the shit out of some smug Atlan men. The only thought in Bickslow's head at that was that it sounded sexy as hell.

"Do you think she'll leave with you?" Jera asked him and he snapped back to the conversation, Bickslow knew that his answer to this had better be a measured one or he was going to fuck up a whole heap of things for everyone involved. So far she'd lost her mother and brother, her father had tried to kill her, and she was now a part of the organization that was keeping him imprisoned. Alma was quite literally _all_ she had left.

"Ali gets tunnel vision on stuff. She's got it in her head to look after you, I don't think she'll be going anywhere till she's sure you're safe," Bickslow tried to keep the sadness out of his voice, but Jera picked up on it.

"She doesn't let anyone touch her, but she let's you?" She asked.

"If you aren't putting up a barrier, she needs to work extra hard to block you out." That seemed to register with Jera.

"She's always telling me to shield myself better. Does it really bother her that much?"

 _"Yeah,"_ There was a smile on his face. Images of people in fountains, cradling sprained wrists and arms. Grabby men with looks of terror on their faces. A sly, pleased grin on hers.

"It must make it hard for you two," A small smirk split Jera's face, followed by a quick hand that plucked another morsel from his plate before he could react. He frowned.

"Do that with Ali and you'll end up with a fork imbedded somewhere," Bickslow deadpanned. Jera laughed.

"Oh, I have, Alma doesn't let them scar though," Jera admitted. Bickslow leaned miserably back in his chair.

"So...does _everyone_ just automatically assume we're together?" It was getting annoying at this point. Jera had known him all of five minutes.

From the other side of the room Laxus and Natsu shouted "YES!" in unison, making Jera laugh and startling several men who quickly got up from their tables and left with their food. Suddenly uncomfortable.

"You're joking? She stood there in that arena like a target dummy when she spotted you. She flusters like a _schoolgirl_ around you," Jera snickered.

"Ali doesn't fluster like anything," He remarked. "Ali doesn't fluster, full stop," Even he wasn't sure that was entirely true. She did have the capacity to blush. He'd seen it happen.

"Yeah I didn't think so either, and then I see her after your little time out. Sweaty palms. Out of breath. Guess you weren't shielding yourself _then,"_ She mocked him, waving a piece of stolen meat at him.

And suddenly it occurred to him that he hadn't been. He'd kissed her and every single drop of repressed need, and everything else from nine months of celebacy probably hit her like a _freight_ train. No wonder she was avoiding him. He'd probably blown a _fuse._

Again, he was approaching all this wrong. She wasn't an average woman.

 _"Fuck,_ I don't think I was," He let his head drop onto the table with a groan. " Here I was thinking she was reciprocating and she probably couldn't even help it," The honesty in that single statement looked to surprise Jera. She gave him a somewhat incensed glare.

"Are all men as stupid as you?" She demanded.

"I wouldn't say all, but certainly some," Bickslow teased, somewhat without humour.

"Come with me, moron," She stood up and beckoned him to follow her out of the hall; Laxus and Natsu followed him with their eyes but otherwise didn't do anything more than glance his way. They'd be able to track him by smell if need be.

Jera led him down a series of stone corridors that all seemed to look the same, Bickslow trying to remember the sequence of turns but failing miserably. The hallways changed a little. Suddenly getting smaller, narrower, the doors closer together. Bickslow assumed smaller rooms. Jera made sure to check the area thoroughly before crouching down in front of a door and pulling out a lock pick

"I'm not normally the one to be saying this, but are you sure we should be here?" Amusedly he found himself asking the question that had quite literally been voiced to him well over a hundred times in his life. Jera reminded him of himself in his younger days. Fucking _reckless._

 _"T_ his is Alma's room," She started to say.

"Then even more reason to get the fuck out of here," Bickslow reasoned. He wasn't about to go invading her privacy like that.

"We aren't going in. I just need you to see it," Her voice was solemn and he could tell she felt bad about this, but the girl was a clearly practiced lockpick, so clearly she couldn't have felt as bad as all that.

The lock clicked open and the door swung in and Bickslow was greeted with a sea of green. Materials, ornaments, scarfs left to dangle from the walls. It was incredible to see. The cost alone for the contents of the room would have been astronomical in Atla.

"I thought she was trying to replicate her home back in Fiore, but now I know she wasn't," Jera left the door open for a moment longer, letting it sink in. Letting it truly sink in just what this represented. "I think the colour reminded her of what she missed most, and I'm fairly sure now that that wasn't a _place,"_ Her eyes locked with his, the gravity of the implication was tough to swallow but Bickslow knew her meaning.

This room wasn't there as a memorial to Fiore. It was there as a memorial to _him,_ to the man she expected never to see again. A room dedicated to her _grief._

"Men really are idiots," Jera admonished him. "She's in the training hall, by the way," She pointed down the corridor. "First left turn, second right. Giant doors, you can't miss it. She's the only one down there in the afternoons, you shouldn't run into anyone."

The way she'd pointed seemed clear and Bickslow took a steadying breath before reminding himself of something.

"Hold on," He darted into her room and rummaged around in the dresser by her bed, taking something and concealing it under the tunic he was wearing.

 _"Now_ who's living dangerously?" She smiled sweetly, throwing his comment back at him.

"Yeah, yeah, balls on a spike outside the guild hall," He chuckled to himself at Ali's usual threat. Jera threw a blank look his way. No doubt trying to figure out why the threat of castration would make him laugh like that. She didn't get her answer as he took off at a jog down the hall towards the training arena where Ali was presently demolishing something or making grown men cry.

* * *

Notes

The next chapter is ready written and should be up at some point tomorrow.

I know this chapter is a bit of a hefty read, but a few topics had to be covered before the story could progress.

Huge thank you to my reviewers. You guys keep me going and you have no idea how much I appreciate it.

Enormous thanks to Rachel, Desna, and Weezel for the comments and kind words.


	7. Chapter 7

Bickslow got lost twice on his way there. A three part set of instructions and he still managed to take a wrong turn somewhere on route, the damn corridors all just looked the same, but thankfully he remembered enough to double back on his tracks; as it would happen, the doors he was looking for weren't just unmistakeable, they were these enormous, gaudy, gilded gold monstrosities and they stuck out like a sore thumb. In the desert, in a country with certainly more mines than forests, gold was in more abundance than wood, for sure.

He crept in as quietly as he could, his totems left just outside the door to keep watch. Jera was right, she was alone, the others all had duties to attend to; stuff that Ali wouldn't willingly involve herself with if she didn't have to. He paused for a moment, watching her as she moved in the sand, striking at invisible opponents; her swords cutting in fluid arcs while she danced. Light footed, graceful, moving like the swords were a part of her.

Bickslow knew the instant she noticed him because it also happened to be the moment she lost her grip on one of her weapons and it was sent sailing, skittering across the room. She turned carefully and made a quiet noise in the back of her throat as Bickslow pulled off his tunic and slipped off his boots, stepping into the sand, shirtless and barefoot.

He spread his hands.

"I got _bored,"_ Bickslow offered as means of explanation for suddenly turning up out of the blue.

"I _suppose_ that's better than boring," Ali turned away, but he saw her crack a smile. He approached and watched her step back. "You do know stepping into the sand while I'm practicing, you can't leave till one of us is defeated, right?"

"Yeah, there's actually a pretty similar custom in Bosco," Bickslow stretched a little, loosening up at the edge of the small arena.

"So what, this is a _consensual_ ass kicking?" Alma laughed at him. Shaking her head, warily. Senses on high alert. "No, you're off the hook. Not in the mood to beat you to a bloody pulp right now," The focus required to fight him just wasn't there. On top of that, skin to skin contact would just be a repeat of the day before and she was still recovering from that. Truthfully, she was shaky; she could feel her own magic trying to reach out to him again, trying to draw him back for more. The alcohol had dulled her common sense and as a result, like strings, her feelings and his got more than a little tangled. It was difficult for her to know where he started and she ended, and coming down from that had left her in an uncomfortable situation. He was in love with her and within a second of the kiss she'd been consumed by that, to the expense of her own feelings on the matter.

She wasn't entirely certain she was actually _capable_ of the same. In all the lives she remembered, there was no love present to compare the feeling to. Those memories had been stolen before her time.

What she'd wanted had been a little time to cool down, try and work out what she'd been thinking even _suggesting_ their little wager, alcohol so far seemed to be the culprit, but Bickslow she knew could be pretty impatient when he was after something.

"I think you should probably leave," She kept herself calm. "You shouldn't be here to begin with," He closed his eyes and smiled at her suggestion. Like he'd been expecting it.

Instead of moving away he took out two cuffs and offered her one. In all the time he'd know her, he'd only ever known her to sleep when she was wearing them.

 _"Here,"_ The look on her face as her mouth dropped open was worth it all.

 _"Where the fuck did you get those?_ " She snarled at him. Eyeing the anti magic cuffs.

"I picked the lock on your room and took them from the dresser; you have _exceedingly_ boring underwear by the way. Oh, and did you decorate yourself or did something _sneeze_ violently at the door?" The colour of her face changed, reddening spectacularly. She was practically spitting with rage.

"Are you looking to _die?"_ Her words were almost _venomous_ and when he tossed her one of the cuffs she snatched it out of the air. Mind well and truly changed on a beating.

Bickslow grinned deviously. Still holding the other cuff, he attached it to his own wrist.

She paused, seeing him clearly now that his magic was suppressed, her temper a little cooler now knowing that he was well and truly up to something. He crouched down in the sand, stretching his hips and his shoulders. It was a strange feeling being suddenly cut off from his power. His babies knew what to expect and would stand guard but it was unsettling being suddenly so incredibly alone.

The Seith took a deep breath. Close combat wasn't his strongest attribute and while he was undoubtedly one of the most agile in the guild, he was under no illusions as to how this fight was going to go. She was an accomplished swords woman _before_ she'd started training with Erza and Pantherlily. Bickslow took a fighting stance with a silent prayer to whatever deities watched over this land that what was left of him was fixable. He'd purposefully wound her up, now he was gonna pay the price for it.

"You know, I think you went and got soft on me," He rasped, tapping his chin. "The Ali I know would run barefoot across razor blades for the chance to kick the crap out of me."

That of course did it, her expression devolving in an instant as she took off at a sprint towards him, snapping the cuff on as she crossed the space between them. She swung at him when she was in range and he dodged it, tumbling to the side in the sand and coming to his feet to face her.

"Gotten _slow,_ too," He teased her.

"Stop fucking running!" She kicked sand angrily in his direction. "You wanted to fight. NOW FIGHT!" Her scream sobered him somewhat. Despite his ulterior motives, Ali took this seriously.

The next time he saw her move it was with a speed he wasn't quite quick enough to counter, and Bickslow felt her foot graze his chin: passing so close it irritated the stubbled growing there. It took him a panicked moment to recover but when he made to move out of reach he found her already waiting with an elbow that landed in his midsection and took the wind out of him. She predicted his strikes and counters like her magic was precognition and he felt the blow rattle his _kidneys_ it landed so hard.

The intense pain triggered an automatic reaction and Bickslow swung blindly. The blow went somewhat wide but managed to catch her on the shoulder; it was a glancing blow only, and to his frustration she twisted herself with it, dispensing the majority of the force before turning to land a back hand across his face. He stumbled to his knees, his vision doubling, but she hesitated where she should have pressed the momentary advantage and aimed another strike; waiting for him to get up.

Bickslow did so with a groan as she moved back and out of his much longer reach.

There was a look on her face, that in the light seemed almost malevolent. The knowledge that she was stalking him around the arena like those sand cats she always like to compare him to, did absolutely nothing for his sudden, intense anxiety. For all he liked to brag about it, she really _wasn't_ like anyone else in the guild. She was just that little bit more unstable sometimes. Rash. Unpredictable.

He rushed her, taking a page out of her book with a sharp jab that she didn't bother blocking. She clearly saw it coming but didn't react to stop it. When he hit her, her entire head swivelled to the side before rotating back. She smiled taking a single step backwards, almost completely unfazed by the punch. Bickslow froze, shocked that he'd hit her, confused when he realized she'd let him.

"By the gods above, you hit like a damn _infant._ No wonder Lucy kicks your ass, _"_ The admonishment mid fight stung him a little and she knew she'd hit a sore spot. They both knew the things that would wind the other up. The ways to get under their respective skins.

The next moments were a blur he had trouble recollecting. His mind momentarily shut down and when he came around he was lying on his back staring at the ceiling of the room. His jaw felt loose in his head; absently he checked his teeth to make sure they were all accounted for, and while he tasted blood there was nothing worse than a few cuts and some unpleasant bruising. He rolled to the side and made it to his hands and knees, his eye line finding a bare foot, following it up a toned calf, to an equally impressive set of bare thighs and gym shorts. The woman looked down at him, arms crossed but her expression wasn't necessarily unhappy. In fact, for the first time since he'd seen her, she seemed relaxed. The stiffness in her posture was gone.

She offered him a hand up and he took it. Bickslow massaged his jaw and wiped at the blood streaking down his chin.

"And you hit like _Gajeel,"_ The words were muttered from behind his hand as he rubbed at his face. The most dangerous weapon she possessed, sometimes, really wasn't her magic.

The adrenaline fading she recoiled at what she'd done. With a far softer touch, she reached out a hand and traced his swelling cheek. He hissed at the contact. The skin must have split because it stung something rotten.

 _"Owww! Geez,_ watch it, sweetpea," He laughed, recoiling from the contact and wiping more blood from his face.

Alma seemed lost, somewhere between guilt and regret; looking at her cuffed wrist she sighed.

"I'm going to assume you forgot to grab the keys to these?" The question was laced with a little bit of dry humour. One of his more adventurous nights back in Magnolia had seen her having to make a midnight house call to physically break the handcuffs fixing Bickslow to his own bed. Having misplaced the keys as some point during his debaucherous evening.

"Knowing my luck I'd probably have lost them in the sand. At least in your room you still know where they are."

An eyebrow rose while he was regarded with nothing but paranoid suspicion. The kind people developed when they grew to actually know him. Know when he was being devious.

She didn't answer him though she did laugh one of those comical laughs of hers, leading the way out of the training room wordlessly. Bickslow grabbed his shirt and boots along the way, slipping them on as he struggled to keep up. His totems followed them, weakly fluttering about, lost and disorientated till she arrived back to her room and fetched the key for the cuffs. When she unlocked his he felt the rush of magic back. The connections with his totems restored, they rushed happily about, chattering amongst themselves. He watched her awkwardly fisting the key though she made no move to take off her own.

"You not taking yours off?" He asked.

"You must think I'm an absolute idiot," She folded her arms crossly but her face was impassive. The Seith knew he'd been rumbled. She kept the cuff on so she was clearheaded enough to talk to him.

Bickslow gave her a blank look and shrugged, indicating he had no idea what she was talking about. She didn't need magic to know he was lying.

"Fighting me was just a way of getting the cuffs on. Leaving the key here guarantees some privacy before they come off. I'm not a _fool,"_ There it was again. That legendary directness.

"Hey, I only _just_ realized, nearly two days later mind you, that I fucked up _again._ Which I'm noticing is a reoccurring trend," He huffed unhappily." I needed to talk to you and you were avoiding me. I mean, you clearly needed to let off steam," He gestured to his face. "I'd like to take all the blame but you've got Jera to thank for the idea," He grumbled.

There was no immediate response and Bickslow for the moment took that as a good sign. At least she appeared to be listening to him.

Closing the door behind them he sighed. "How do you feel with the cuff?" He asked. She sat tiredly on the bed. Dull skin, dark circles that looked carved into her face.

 _"Exhausted,"_ She admitted, surprised herself by how tired she was without her magic _._ Supplementing basic needs like rest with magic was a recipe for self-destruction, and it seemed like that was exactly what she'd been doing. Who knew for how long.

"You need to take better care of yourself," He reached out and pried the key out of her semi reluctant fist and took off the cuff, instantly she looked better. More alert. "You can't use your magic like coffee. And you can't keep putting yourself in harms way cause you know you can heal it. That was pretty risky what you did up there," He looked sheepishly at her, trying to appear casual when he was anything but. She was going hurt herself if she kept this up and he found that concept too frightening to contemplate. "When was the last time you slept through the night?"

The thoughtful expression that unfurled across her face told him that she couldn't remember, but it was slowly warped with something like melancholy.

"Depends...when did you leave?" She muttered honestly; face betraying a deep rooted misery he instantly felt guilty for. Bickslow honestly hated the feeling.

"For a woman that prides herself on being a stone cold bitch, you're really good at playing up the heartbroken wallflower angle," He let a coy smirk pull at his lips. He didn't like seeing her sad. He'd rather she be angry at him than miserable.

He got his wish; instantly she was fuming. He was toying with her feelings, she realized. It wasn't frequent that she let herself open up to anyone, to have him turn that on her, manipulate her emotions left her feeling murderous.

 _"Give me the cuff back_ ," She stood, snarling, a flicker in her eye that spoke of another beating. Bickslow grinned and held the anti magic cuffs up over his head and out of reach.

"Jump, little angry person, _jump!"_ He laughed raucously waving them above her. Eyes watering as he started laughing hysterically. Their height difference meant she'd have to leave the ground a good foot to get close to them, if she wanted to snatch them away.

"I'm going to _end_ you," She glared, but already he could see the anger fading.

 _"After_ you get some sleep," He said wiping tears from his eyes and trying to steady his breathing.

Her eyes seemed to pierce through him and he wasn't sure there was any special magic involved in the way she suddenly made his heart flutter. Just the standard kind. He loved her, and he _apparently_ loved annoying her just as much.

"You'll need to give me the cuffs back for that," She deadpanned. Her voice even.

"No can do. These are a crutch," He waved them in her face. "You aren't always gonna have the option to sleep wearing these. And you're still gonna have to sleep," Bickslow crossed his arms defiantly.

"You're serious?" She asked.

"As a heart attack."

"I can't be trusted if I'm not awake to control myself," It was true. When she slept without the cuffs, those threads of hers went searching. People had nightmares and various other strange dreams. In extreme circumstances she'd affected them to such an extent their personalities had temporarily been altered. It was one of the first things Bickslow had learned, how to keep himself to himself while he slept. She hadn't had the luxury of his training. She still operated mostly on instinct though he could see she was driven to improve.

"I'm gonna stay. Make sure your magic doesn't get out of hand," Bickslow walked over and sat down on the edge of her bed and held out a hand. Ali pondered the offer for a moment before pulling out some more articles of clothing and covering herself a little more. She sat and squeaked suddenly when he pulled her down flat onto the bed with him; wrapping her up in his arms.

"This isn't _dignified..."_ The words came out muffled against his chest, bemoaned pitifully. She squirmed a little, trying to get used to the position and giving up limply.

"Don't worry! No one's here to see it. Just me," He smiled out of sight. "I swear, I'll only bring it up, like, maybe once or twice a year: on our anniversaries, maybe when we fight, during celebrations, gotta tell Laxus, too. He'll get a kick out of you needing a human teddy," He sang. "Gotta give big bright and frowny something to smile about, y'know?"

He mentally prepared himself for the knee or the fist that was undoubtedly coming, but there was nothing. When he looked down, she was already asleep.

It wasn't long after she drifted off that he felt her magic seeping out to begin it's search now that she wasn't suppressing it. For all the stuff going on in her head most of the time, she was actually in possession of the neediest soul he'd ever encountered. He felt her stretch those threads of hers out while she slept, only to cease and withdraw. He looked a little closer. Watching her as she slipped into deeper, comfortable sleep. Her soul brightening to an almost sky blue, content that the thing it was looking for was right there with her.

* * *

Notes

I think I may have made a promise of fluff. Lol

HUGE thanks to my reviewers. Desna, Courtepattes, Moonlight Goddesses, Weezel474 and guests.


	8. Chapter 8

He hadn't realized he'd drifted off to sleep at some point till he was woken up to the sight of two Dragon Slayers at the foot of the bed. Laxus nudging his feet with a serious looking scowl while her room door was left wide open, Natsu appeared much like a lost child that had wandered in; currently occupying his time poking at some of the ornaments on her dresser with a bemused curiosity. Bickslow felt his heart speed up when he realized she was still in his arms but it calmed when that same thought actually sunk in. He knew she must still have been asleep only by way of the fact that Laxus and Natsu weren't currently involved in a three way brawl.

"Have you lost your fucking _minds?"_ He whispered, eyes owlishly wide, trying to keep his voice as low as possible. Something wet touch his arm and he winced internally. Ali was definitely a drooler, though thankfully not a snorer.

It was the first time either of the Dragon Slayers would have _ever_ seen the inside of _any_ of her rooms. From Laxus's first disapproving glance, to him at least she seemed to be some sort hoarder. The majority ot the things she'd collected were _junk._

The Seith's alarm made Laxus grin despite himself and Bickslow was stuck with a conundrum. His arm was pinned under her, if he moved to try and wipe that smile off his teammates face, she'd wake up and unholy hell would descend, if he did nothing then he was forced to lay there while they wandered around moving things she'd undoubtedly notice. Natsu picked up a small box that Biskslow knew was a Boscan music box and he snarled under his breath.

 _"Flamebrain,_ if you wake her up, I fuckin' swear, I'll walk you down the street _naked,"_ He bit out. Laxus pulled the box out of Natsu's hands and set it down in its previous spot.

"Is that why Gray does it, then?" Natsu smirked quietly under his breath making Laxus snort.

Bickslow had honestly not slept as well in his life. It was like months of stress had just melted into the ground while he dreamt. It was altogether possible he'd needed the rest as much as Ali did. The wake up though was leaving something to be desired. Thankfully the woman was still asleep, how he couldn't be certain, but she was, and the relief was insurmountable.

"What the hell are you doing down here, anyway? I disappear for an hour or two and you go on a rampage?"

You went missing _ten hours ag_ o, Bix. Its llke _3am,"_ Laxus crossed his arms and leaned against the doorframe. "So we came looking when you didn't show up. Shit's happened and we need you dressed," They had nothing to feel bad about. They thought Bickslow was in trouble, considering.

"I _am_ dressed," Bickslow whined and Laxus narrowed his eyes in warning. _"Fine,_ but if she wakes up, there's gonna be mayhem so I'd recommend you get the fuck out. She beat _me_ senseless for going through her stuff earlier. You've been warned," He glared.

Natsu shrugged rolling an enameled seashell between his fingers. Lucy was _still_ scarier.

Laxus scoffed. "You look fine, now quit complaining," The man had absolutely zero tolerance for Bickslow's present attitude. "We don't exactly have time for your shit, Bix. Wake her, don't wake her. It's not my problem. We have bigger issues right now than your girlfriend throwing a temper tantrum," The Dragon Slayer ground out.

Natsu walked right up to the bed and put his face in Bickslow's examining him dubiously.

"Not even a black eye? Lucy's done waaay worse," The fire Dragon Slayer laughed at him, oblivious to Bickslow's sudden confusion.

The Seith put his hand to his cheek at Natsu's comment but his fingers met smooth, unmarked skin; the cuts and bruises from earlier were gone.

"In your _sleep?_ Really?" Bickslow gingerly patted her on the head. Healing him while she was unconscious? That was definitely new, but she'd probably be more exhausted when she woke up than she had been going to sleep if she was expending that kind of magic without even realizing it. "Gimme a second. Gonna have to do this with military precision. Feel free to ignore anything that sounds like me being murdered by some hell beast," He rasped seriously.

Laxus turned to leave, dragging Natsu by the back of his shirt out the door. Thankfully he had enough sense not to slam it.

"Hey, sweetpea, time to wake up, I'm gonna need my arm back," He crooned carefully, touching her face lightly. She barely stirred. Out for the count. Bickslow tried again. "Hey, come on," He pleaded with her unconscious form. Somehow while they slept she'd managed to wrap her legs up in his, essentially claiming half of his body.

 _"Children!"_ From about the room his babies sprang to life. Their souls, now back in the stuffed children's dolls, climbed the stone base of the bed and began carefully separating the couple. Normally, he kept them well away when he was wrapped up with a woman, but this happened to be a special circumstance and Ali wouldn't freak out like the majority he often woke up with.

"This is just _ridiculous,"_ He muttered to himself with a laugh, dodging a wildly flailing arm that she happened to try and drape over his face.

After some careful manoeuvring his leg finally came free and he delicately slipped his arm out from under her, sliding away, fingers twitching unpleasantly with pins and needles as the feeling returned. As he pulled free she rolled away from him and managed to grab a hold of Pappa. The doll flustering angrily as she gripped it to her like a teddy. He was connected to Pappa, she was now connected to Pappa. It seemed to be enough to keep her calm. He gave the doll a sympathetic look.

"Sorry, little buddy, you may have to take one for the team, here," The soul's previous aggravation at having been grabbed by Alma was redirected back at him, as Bickslow made the conscious choice to leave it there as a way to keep her sleeping. A subject he was finding increasingly concerning: the woman _slept_ like the fucking _dead_.

Absently he checked his watch to find that Laxus was right and it was well into the early hours of the morning. He probably wasn't getting much more than Ali if he'd slept the afternoon, evening and a portion of the night away without even realizing it. He'd have probably still been sleeping if they hadn't come to wake him up.

Speaking of which.

"Okay, so what's so important that you gotta get me up in the middle of the night?" Bickslow asked them once he'd gotten outside. Seriously, if it wasn't of utmost importance he was considering going back to bed.

"Jera may have broken her father out. Collapsed a portion of the base too," Laxus whispered in hushed tones.

Bickslow did a double take.

" _Wh_ _at?"_ The look of shock on his face morphing to confusion. _"May?_ What, you can't be _sure?"_ Carefully he came to the final thought that this was, in fact, _definitely_ important enough to be dragged out of bed for. He turned back to Alma's room and hesitated. A debate raged inside him as to the pros and cons of waking her with this. They still couldn't be sure Jera was willingly involved and he honestly didn't want to wake her with maybes.

"The whole section is _gone._ But there's a trail leading away from it. Eli and Jera at least by the smell," Natsu's mouth had pulled into a grim line. Completely serious.

"And you're _sure?"_

"Yeah, Bix. Dragon Slayer nose doesn't lie. Trail is fresh. They _won't_ be finding a body when they dig the place out," Natsu assured him.

Laxus seemed in agreement.

"You'd need a sand mage to do it, and Jera took off around the same time," It wasn't a far stretch to speculate the obvious.

When his people figured out that Eli wasn't in the rubble they'd probably just start apprehending anyone they felt was suspicious. The Fairy Tail mages were now against the clock to find them first, because they were going to become the most hunted group in Atla.

They couldn't outrun _both_ the rebellion and the Kingdom officials. They were going to need to get Jera and Eli back first. Hopefully get them both back before the others found out.

"If they've a sand mage, they're more than likely gone already," Bickslow reasoned.

"No. They've been moving this place for hours. Jera will be waiting for them to stop to make a run for it," The underground fortresses were old; these days cave ins on the outer walls wasn't uncommon while they were moving. It was a good cover. "We have maybe an hour before they get us where we're going, then we lose them entirely and end up stuck down here; they they figure out he wasn't in that cell when it collapsed and we're fucked," Laxus reasoned.

"Ali is gonna go crazy," Bickslow muttered. "Fine, we find the runaways, bring them back. Then next stop we get the fuck out of here. I'll take the heat over this place any time," Bickslow agreed with the general sentiment.

He turned around and put a handle on Ali's door handle to go and wake her up and a hand on his arm stopped him.

"Jera is important to her. If it comes down to a fight, she's a liability," Laxus was pained to say it out loud, but it needed to be said.

"You'd seriously ask me to leave her out of this? I don't think I can do that, boss," Bickslow knew this wasn't the right thing to do. Ali wasn't a blushing weepy maid. And she had zero problems kicking the crap out of anyone who challenged her, friend or foe. On top of that, she deserved to be made aware of what was going on.

"Don't think I was asking, Bix," And that was that. He'd just been given an order and whether he liked it or not, he'd do what Laxus told him.

Natsu clapped him sympathetically on the arm. He understood the man's turmoil.

"If they're still here, my nose'll find them. Then you can go back to makin' some friends for my kid," The Seith couldn't tell if Natsu was joking or not. That silly, stupid grin made it difficult to tell.

* * *

Her dreams had turned to blood soaked darkness eventually despite their calm beginnings. Images of strange places and people she'd never met but knew everything about. Their names and favorite foods. The sound of their laughter. These all faded out to nothingness. And then there was screaming; the hefty weight of madness and rage pressing down on her. Suffocating. She felt a vast emptiness begin opening inside her, growing by the moment. Hollow and cold. A space she was suddenly desperate to fill.

When she woke up, something was moving, hitting her in the face. A painless, relatively light, frantic thumping against her cheek. Cracking a weary, crusty eye open she saw one of Bickslow's dolls cradled tightly under her chin, pinned; just one small stuffed arm free, the arm it was presently slapping her in the face with in a desperate attempt to wake her up.

"Well, this is surprising," She found herself mumbling to the doll, realizing they were currently alone. She looked at it seriously "I mean _you,_ of course, Pappa. Bickslow running off is pretty standard at this rate," She rumbled quietly seething.

She let the toy go and once released Pappa started going berserk, zomming around her room.

"HEY! _HEY?"_ She growled, as it proceeded to knock over as much as it could in a means tp grab her attention, convey what it was trying to convey. It looked to be purposefully destroying her belongings in the process.

Quickly, she reached out as it passed and grabbed a firm hold. She could feel its urgency. The simple commands it had to _move, leave, find, guard._ Pappa was being summoned, but its link to Bickslow was weak. She knew how his magic worked, knew that these little lost souls were sustained by him, could be summoned at will. She blanched realizing that the burst of energy Pappa was suddenly in possession of wasn't from Bickslow, but her. Its link to its master was currently too weak to keep the little guy going. In her sleep, she'd substituted Bickslow's power for her own. He was right, her soul was so damn _needy._

She doubted she could command Pappa if she tried, she was no Seith, but she knew they had some sort of autonomy and that if the link was weak, then Bickslow was too.

The thought that something had happened to him while she was sleeping made her unfathomably angry. Pappa was distressed, and she was fast following in its likeness. With a firm grip on the doll still she focused on strengthening the link it had to Bickslow, even if there was just a sliver of a connection there, she could follow it back. If he was weak, maybe she could even push some power back along it. Pappa expressed its gratitude as more of its master came back into focus.

She dressed in leathers and grabbed her swords. Opening the door outside her room, singe marks on the stone greeted her. Maybe twenty feet from her door three men lay unmoving, covered in blood and still bleeding open wounds. There were distinct burns on their chests that she knew came from Bicklows babies; their small bodies littering the ground between the corpses.

"Move, leave, find, guard," She repeated softly. Now knowing that the commands weren't to bring the totems back, he sent them away to find her. Guard her.

She looked to Pappa. "There's a very strong likelihood I'm in love with an idiot," She said to the doll, not even sure if it understood the sentiment.

Passing between the bodies she gathered the remaining dolls up in her arms. It felt bizarre, pushing her threads, her magic into them. It was so foreign a feeling. They drew on it greedily, like adorable, annoying little parasites.

The more power she gave them the stronger her own link to them became. The others came back to some semblance of life. Confusion was rampant, and suddenly she was conscious of these extra entities at the back of awareness, chattering away noisily. Her head began aching in moments. Her senses felt absolutely assaulted. Cold touched her upper lip and her fingers came back bloody.

"Holy fuck, how the hell does he deal with this," She growled. "ENOUGH!" There was immediately silence as his dolls came flittering around her, unhappy to be taking hard commands from her in place of Bickslow's usual gentler requests. The silence suddenly broke as they began voicing their displeasure again. She fell to her knees, clutching her skull and screamed.

Pappa was the only one that seemedvto be staying silent. And just when she felt she couldn't actually take anymore noise, something passes from it to the others and they suddenly quieted down. She clambered up the wall to her feet glaring accusingly at them as they circled each other. They seemed to be communicating in some way. They'd been commanded to go to her, to protect her.

"I need you to find him for me," Already tired again, she interrupted them wiping the bloody nose away. "You don't have to be exact. Get me _close, please?_ You can guard me there. Just, show me where he _is."_

She shared their desperation; it wasn't something she'd admit, but she did. She could keep them charged with whatever power she had, but they were still bound to him. Their existence was the product of Seith magic. She couldn't completely substitute that. If he died, so would they. They seemed to understand that at least.

In the blink of am eye, they took off at speed, she found herself racing to keep up. There were people further up the hall, her skin almost hummed with their proximity. The dolls didn't seem to know they were about to head into a fight and she had absolutely no idea how to communicate that with them, so she drew her swords and sucked in a breath.

They disappeared around a corner and there was a deafening crack as they began opening fire on the men blocking their path; hindering their return to their master. Unlike Bickslow's signature green light, there was crackling darkness hitting the men. Unstable and shockingly malignant. The sight of her power made manifest halted her in her steps, wide-eyed and suddenly uncertain. Good and evil she knew were complicated matters, but there was an element in her magic that gave her concerned pause.

Bickslow's dolls didn't seem to care what magic was powering them. They fought with everything; the energy they were firing cut literal holes through their opponents. Some of them she recognized. If not by name, the faces were familiar enough for her be able to place, though their eyes were wild. Expressions deranged. They died tearing at each other to be the first to reach her. Frenzied. Absolutely insane. The dolls put them down like animals. They died _screaming._ But _not_ in pain.

When the path was clear they started moving again and as fast as she was she just had no hope of keeping up. They disappeared again and by the time she'd rounded the bend after them they'd gone already, leaving her alone.

She could feel them still draining her, pulling at her magic. The sprinting and power drain were instantly having an effect on her. If she kept this up, she wouldn't be in a position to help anyone. She stopped, trying to catch her breath when Pappa bumped her on the shin. The doll lowered itself to the ground at her feet and spread it's arms. Hesitating, she glanced around and after reaching the conclusion that no one would see, and really, what choice did she have, she stepped onto the doll, crouching down for balance.

Alma wasn't one for praying, but she did offer thanks that when Pappa took off at speed that she managed to keep her balance and didn't go sailing off. The more they moved, the more aware of Bickslow she became. A presence just lingering at the edges of thought. When she reached out she could feel his dolls as they travelled ahead. Their direction. Their state of well-being. She concentrated on finding _him._ His soul was linked inextricably to theirs and she was now tied to them. She ran a thread carefully through Pappa looking for the man in question but when she found him his energy was a bare flicker of what it should have been and it was fading fast with each moment. The direction they were heading in would lead them to the old Boro pens and she knew that's where the others would be.

She also knew with certainty that that was where Bickslow was dying. Through the dolls that linked them together she pushed out, reaching for him and with the briefest flicker of recognition she felt him respond, and there was a rush of relief that made her hands almost shake.

She winced at the thought of causing Bickslow more pain than he currently seemed to be in, and it seemed he was in a lot, but with little choice she forced her threads through the Seith. It was too awkward really to be worrying about care, she had to move them through Pappa and then through him. It wasn't easy. It should have been impossible. But Pappa made a willing bridge and all that mattered in that moment was keeping him alive.

Healing was something she'd grown very skilled at in the time she'd been around, a side effect of being reckless and a magnet for trouble, and she hoped it was enough. Pappa shook under her with the sudden new use for their link and she was sent rolling to the ground with the jarring shift.

Despite the pain it caused them the dolls seemed to understand; in the wake of her efforts their master was stronger than he had been, enough that they now seemed to have access to two stores of power. Alma lay on her back for a moment; the ceiling was spinning ever so slightly and she felt like being sick, but looking up, she saw Peppe and then Poppo. The others had come back and were circling overhead, not unlike vultures.

Everything was wrong right now, this place felt like a tomb rather than a sanctuary. Those men back at her door, some of the wounds on them, they weren't from Bickslow dolls. They weren't from mages either. They looked to be from blades, and if the blood on their own weapons told her anything, it was from their own. The truth of it was that _t_ he rebels were literally killing each other.

The world was still spinning when she got to her feet. Her body felt heavy but with Pappa's help she made it upright and much slower than before she trudged onward. The dolls moved with purpose.

Outside the doors to the Boro room there were bodies everywhere. Some were wearing armour, some plain clothes. They all lay there, the last looks on their faces where horrifying expressions, twisted with rage and pain below feral, bulging eyes and manic grins that made her skin crawl in new unfamiliar ways. A woman reached out a bloody hand, the rest of her body still partially buried under an armoured corpse. It would have looked like a plea for help if it hadn't been for the knife in her hand and her weak, wild swings to drive it into Alma's boot; the only thing she could reach.

Until her final breath she tried to kill her, her last gasp wasted before the life faded out of her blood smeared face.

Alma opened the doors and found absolute carnage. There were bodies _everywhere._ The sand was soggy with blood, the singed, torn remains of the dead were strewn from one end of the room to the next.

It took her a second to realize that not everyone in the room had departed the world of the living, and that included foes. At the far wall an unconscious Natsu was several feet up and half protruding from the wall, like the stone had swallowed him, only his head and parts of his torso left exposed.

Laxus was a few feet away, bleeding heavily from a wound in his side. Bickslow was at his feet, alive but incredibly still. From out of the sand a form emerged up, a man in leather armour, his face twisted in a snarl, spit bumbling on his lips. One of the sand mages she recognized. A quiet man with a rare appreciation for art. Except, it wasn't the man she'd known. His energy was different. His _soul_ was different. Like the contents of a vessel that had been emptied, twisted and mutilated, poisoned and then refilled. Something had changed him.

Bickslow's dolls opened fire; in the bright lights the beams she could see were actually a midnight blue, not the black she'd originally thought, and they flickered uncertainly but they still struck with force enough to blow holes in the sand. The man looked at her, his eyes filled with a reckless abandon before he smiled menacingly and disappeared down into the sand again. The benefit of a sensitivity to the living was that despite not seeing him, or hearing him, she could feel him move under her feet and knew when he was going to rise before he did. She spun with her sword drawn, taking his head from his shoulders in a clean, painless stroke. Blood flecked her face as she started blankly, unable to process.

"I don't think I've ever been as happy to see an individual I disliked quite so much," Laxus grunted, dropping to one knee with a laugh.

He was never one of her favorite people; Dragon Slayers were turbulent balls of often violent, high strung energy. Not to mention the instance where Gajeel's _soul_ almost killed her. Interacting with them was an effort, but still she held out her hand for Laxus to take and when he grabbed it she focused what was left of her magic on healing the stab wound in his side.

His eyes seemed to bug out and he recoiled like he'd just been stung before reaching down to check the skin under his shirt. It was a clean cut and after healing, there didn't seem to be a visible scar. He was lucky. That wasn't always the case with the larger, messier wounds. Her healing magic wasn't the same as most. It wasn't the same as any she knew of.

 _"Thanks,_ I ...didn't know you could heal Dragon Slayers," Laxus admitted to her. She avoided them on principle.

"Can. _Don't,"_ Was her clipped response.

Laxus walked over to the wall and with a grip on Natsu pulled him free in a shower of broken stone. The fire Dragon Slayer was mostly unhurt, just unconscious. She could already tell he'd be fine in a few minutes.

"Can you heal him?" Laxus asked and she looked down at Natsu with a thoughtful expression on her face.

"Unfortunately, what's wrong with _him_ I can't fix," She looked the lightning Slayer dead in the eyes. "If there was a cure for stupidity I'd force feed it to that one," She pointed at Bickslow, deadpan.

Bickslow hadn't faired as well as the rest. She'd healed his body. Messily. Clumsily. Not the precision work she was used to. And the carelessness had sent him into shock. But he was alive. It was treatable. It was something she _could_ treat.

While Laxus tried to wake up Natsu, she found herself staring at the man she'd killed. Bickslow's dolls moved swiftly between her and him, checking on them. Waiting for instruction. The chatter in the back of her head was still there, still exceedingly irritating, but otherwise more tolerable. Pappa came to rest over her shoulder while she looked at the body, grimly taking in the concept that she'd known this man. That she may have even respected him. That she'd _killed_ him... and that she felt _nothing._

She felt Pappa query her on Bickslow and when she didn't immediately respond it started zooming around her head. Batting at it, she growled.

"He'll be fucking _fine._ Now _stop asking_ ," She snapped. Pappa moved away back over to the others who had come to rest on Bickslow's chest.

"You're controlling them?"

" _Fuck no,"_ She blanched at the very suggestion. "I'm a walking battery and they're little fucking _leeches,"_ Alma sneered, the final part muttered under her breath. Poppo collided with the back of her head in retaliation and she bit her tongue tasting blood.

Laxus openly laughed in her face before wiping his bloody hands in a patch of clean sand.

Ali sank to her knees beside Bickslow and checked him over. There was a wound on his torso that had skewered him. It been driven up through his abdomen, under his ribs. Punctured a lung and very almost pierced the heart. Only his height and the shorter length of the blade saved him. The angle going up had been all wrong. She noted it with an almost detached sense of awareness. It reeked of inexperience. Sloppy technique.

"You okay?" Laxus crouched down beside her asking, genuinely concerned. There was no one left to fight. The entire compound was completely empty now, save for them.

"I'm not sure I understand what happened, _"_ She whispered _._

 _"_ Eli broke out of his cell, staged it like the whole area had caved while they were moving us. We thought it might have been Jera that helped him," He paused noting the warning on her face. "But when we followed her trail it led down here. She'd been d up and it looked like she'd been like that hours. Then Eli was there and everything went batshit crazy. Broke a bottle against the wall and all of a sudden people started going berserk. We managed to lock a lot of them outside in the hall but one of their sand mages just opened it again from the inside. When they couldn't kill us, they started killing each other," Laxus looked toward the wall. The liquid still drying against the stone.

"Jera?" She asked. Surprised at how calm her voice seemed. She felt numb. A rare experience.

"Eli took her when he made his escape. After..." Laxus looked to Bickslow's still form.

 _"She_ did that?" Ali muttered, her hands had started shaking.

"I told you, everyone went berserk. Bickslow is pretty good at defending himself from shit like that, and going berserk is kinda a Dragon Slayer trademark already, but everyone else just lost it. They got a whiff of that stuff and they turned into lunatics."

"We need to get them both somewhere comfortable," Throat dry she rasped the words out. They would need a sand mage to get out of this place. Which thanks to the potion Eli dumped down here, they were suddenly short of. "We may as well, we're going to be down here a while."

* * *

Notes

Next chapter is ready to go and I just want to say thank you to all the reviewers. I love you guys so much!

Special thanks to eightbyte, Weezel474, Desna, Moonlight Goddesses, Courtepattes


	9. Chapter 9

Two days later he still wasn't awake and she was starting to get nervous. Something that very rarely, if ever happened. Fear, anxiety over his wellbeing, guilt and regret; because while she was too busy sleeping, he'd gotten hurt. Alma most of all was confused over the loss of the facility; this had been Eli's home, too. Of all the things she knew he was, all the things she could tell about him, his cruelty, his ambition, she hadn't seen the true extent of the kind of evil he'd proven himself capable of. There was darkness she knew in everyone, but she honestly hadn't believed there was quite this much in him.

Clearly she'd been very wrong. For all that she believed in what they were trying to accomplish, Atla was better off as it was if the alternative were men like him. That was a truly bitter pill to swallow.

When they made it out she was going to fine Jera and if she wasn't in perfect health, she would reach down Eli's throat and pull the contents of his body out with her bare hands.

But Bickslow was her most immediate concern. She'd stayed by his bedside without rest. Watching over him with an intensity that almost bordered on obsession.

She knew she could focus too much, fixate on matters to the point that it became unhealthy for her. She didn't need to be told to know that. It was how she processed the world. How she got work done when everything around her was invading her space, trying to breach her very sense of self.

When she set her mind on things she put aside almost everything else. Other people, other jobs and food, rest even, in some cases. She took short missions for Fairy Tail mostly because she knew that while she worked she might not sleep, might not eat. The last and only time she'd tried to actually properly sleep on a job had been a disaster. Tasked with providing backup for Levy and Gajeel while they drew out some potential kidnappers, she'd woken up to a hand over her mouth, while the other tried to find its way down her pants. The man felt himself losing a finger for the privilege of catching her off guard, and he'd lost a lot more by the time she'd finished with him. So much in fact she knew his own men had to put him out of his misery.

It had reaffirmed her new compulsions; cause clearly there were reasons for all the strange things she did. So Alma didn't really sleep on missions, that unfortunately meant that when she did finally succumb, she was usually so exhausted she slept through pretty much anything; _including_ _,_ apparently everyone going mad and killing each other in a base wide slaughter.

But they were dead, and she was still alive. Bickslow and Natsu and Laxus were all still alive. She should have been feeling grief; that was a thing in situations like this, and there'd been so much death. The people she'd come to know over the months, hadn't deserved this. To die like that. But instead of pain there was nothing but relief...and guilt because they _deserved_ grief. They deserved to be remembered with _sadness_ and she felt just a little shitty because that was something she couldn't offer right now.

Because while her ward had stabbed him, Bickslow was still kicking, and in a lot of ways that's all that mattered to her right now. It wasn't clear at the time she'd been blindly healing him, but her magic had needed to mend multiple organs, knit muscle, heal bone; the blade had been driven into him so hard it had cracked his ribs on the inside. She knew the kind of pain that caused and yet, despite that, Bickslow had used his last conscious moments to send his little souls to her, to guard her in her sleep. Knowing she'd be vulnerable without some kind of warning. They'd resisted, vehemently protesting, but the Seith had finally commanded and they'd obeyed. His life was ending, so he decided it would end protecting hers.

There were a lot of things Alma wasn't sure she could do. She didn't ever think she'd be able to carry a child. She was fairly sure she didn't want to. Couldn't cook. Couldn't fake a smile that didn't come out murderous looking. There was an official guild photo with her frowning terribly, and the frown was miles better than the alternative, even she could attest.

But she struck crying off that list. Curled up beside him on a small bed now overcrowded with two people and a rake of possessed children's toys she cried, face buried in his shirt. Dozens of dead and she cried because she was afraid he would wake up.

When she came to, it was to Natsu of all people setting a bowl of something hot and suspicious by the bed. She quenched the rush of embarrassment with a scowl, climbing back to her feet. She wanted to scrub the tears from her face but genuinely didn't want to draw any more attention to the fact that she'd been crying at all, instead choosing to do nothing.

"That smells _lethal,"_ Natsu didn't look like he bought her deflection but there was an absence of pity that alleviated the anxiety she felt at the humiliating situation. "I _know_ about lethal cooking," Alma said, glaring dubiously.

"Yeah, well. I have no idea what half of the ingredients in the kitchen are, so I put a few of them in a pot with something I'm hoping was stock and boiled the crap out of it till it tasted relatively okay," The Dragon Slayer looked pleased with his ingenuity.

"Has Laxus tried any of this yet?" There was suspicion lacing her question. If he was still alive and not in the process of literally shitting himself to death, she'd consider trying it, but even feet away she could smell the distinctive spices. One of which was a root with a reputation for being able to dissolve a hole in a man's stomach if eaten raw. That's if you could even make yourself swallow it.

"Nah, he said he'd get some later, he's still digging."

"I _see,"_ She uttered carefully. "And would I be right to assume that _he_ suggested you bring me down a bowl of this concoction when you offered it to him?" Natsu nodded, he caught on pretty quick to the suggestion.

"Yeah, but I could hear your stomach growling down the hall and I know you like the spicy stuff. I figured you'd be able to handle it. Its only soup. Not afraid are you?" He grinned and Alma stiffened visibly at the comment while he looked on innocently.

She took the bowl up and sniffed the contents before taking a cautious sip. The spice staight up assaulted her and she gagged, choking on her own saliva; her mouths immediate defense against the unholy burning. Setting down the bowl as her palate caught fire, she downed the cup of water by the bed, coughing, furiously, wincing when it made absolutely no difference.

In all of Atla, Natsu may have just created the most lethal weapon ever devised. If you served it in the palace you'd be arrested and charged with an attempted _assassination._

The fact she'd at least _tried_ his cooking though, seemed to satisfy him. The Dragon Slayer tapped Bickslow on the cheek and made an unhappy face at the lack of response.

"Gotta hand it to him, he loves his sleep ins," Natsu chuckled.

Bickslow always encouraged her to ask questions. Speak to people. Engage with them. If she was engaged with them in some way she might stand some chance of learning to ignore the rest. She gauged so much from them at a glance that she almost forgot about speaking to them. Knew so much, that asking was generally pointless; people _rarely_ told the truth about how they felt. But she understood that there were certain social rules to adhere to and in the awkward silence she figured now was the time to start actually getting to know people. She'd relied too much on her magic to judge them, and look where that had ended up with Eli. It wasn't as reliable as she'd thought.

She opened her mouth and paled at the first question that tumbled out.

"Do you miss your son?" She found herself asking. It may have been the first time she'd initiated a conversation with him and Natsu looked thrown by the question for a moment.

"Every _minute_ of every _day,"_ He said wistfully. "But jobs like these are gonna come up from time to time. For me _and_ Luce," There was no accusation in his tone but he highlighted the thing that was bothering her most about their expedition.

"I'm sorry I dragged you away from your family," It was clear from the look on his face that Natsu hadn't expected anything in the way of an apology from her, whether he believed it was warranted or not. It was an interesting conversation, regardless for him. There was honesty and sincerity in the way she was speaking that he hadn't heard before. It was clear to see that in the same way she brought out the best in Bickslow, he brought out the best in her. She was trying. Genuinely trying.

"And I'm sorry that my soup would _probably_ have killed you," He laughed teasing her before taking the bowl and sniffing it again. As though he hadn't been the lunatic that made it in the first place.

Alma looked him square in the eye. "You're an idiot sometimes."

"Takes one to know one," He said heading to the door, pausing there. "Tears aren't evil, y'know and I think its cute how you're doting on him."

The door closed just as the soup bowl hit it, smashing and sending its contents everywhere. She frowned hearing Natsu whistle as he walked away.

She put her head down at the edge of Bickslow's bed and groaned; there was a fine line she had to walk with her reserves of magic if she wanted to keep his dolls around and prevent them draining _his_ energy. He probably had some trick or procedure for when he got injured on a mission but she didn't know it and it was too late now. She'd need his help breaking the constantly strengthening connections that she'd made with them, and that wouldn't be possible while he was unconscious.

"I really need you to _wake the fuck up_ ," At some point she'd gripped his arm tightly and had begun to shake it. Stopping herself she recoiled. "Please! Fuck, why is it so _hard?"_ Suddenly she was crying again and for all the wishing that she had some manner of control over herself she couldn't stop. She felt weak. He _made_ her _weak._ If this was love, she wasn't sure she wanted it. So far it had brought her nothing but frustration and confusion. Pain. It really shouldn't have been that difficult, should it? She could have sworn she was above weeping like some sort of widow over him, but clearly she wasn't.

"That's... what she said..." A small voice answered her with a hoarse laugh and there was a breathless pause. She couldn't even breath just stare at him in shock. _"What?"_ He asked, a tired smile pulling at his mouth _._ He didn't get to say anything more before she threw herself onto him; straddling his hips, before hitting him in the chest painfully. Elated and angry she completely ignored his joke.

 _"Don't you fucking dare put me through that again!"_ She snarled at him furiously, thumping him hard enough to make him cough. "Fucking _idiot!"_ She cried _._

He didn't seem to hear what she was saying, still groggy and a little dizzy, his eyes fixated on her face; reaching out he wiped some new tears away. Staring at them like he'd never seen anything as fascinating.

It was clear from his expression that he expected the chance to respond but she pulled him up into a sitting position roughly and kissed him before he had the opportunity to explain himself.

As things were finally coming back into proper focus Bickslow realized he could feel her in much the same way that he could his totems, but the realization was squashed by that kiss. Her hands in his hair, she pulled him tighter and he shifted their positions a bit so she was nestled in his lap, his hands digging into her hips. He pulled back to catch his breath. His mouth was dry and he had no doubt that his breath must of been _rank._ He could feel a whole host of things radiating from her. Joy and relief, frustration, guilt, it made a strange cocktail when mixed with the rather simple expressions his babies were capable of conveying. It was almost overwhelming. Sensory overload at its worst.

And then the memories of what landed him in the bed to begin with crept up, and he felt his heart rate jump. Blood and screams and people losing their minds. Cutting Jera's ropes and handing her a knife, only for her to scream and drive it up into him. Eli dragging her away by the hair while she roared and thrashed; _still_ trying to kill him. One of the sand mages taking them both back up to the surface. He'd lay there bleeding, watching all those people die. Natsu and Laxus fighting a literal hoard of enemies driven out of their minds with whatever potion Eli had unleashed. He'd felt it in the air. The manipulation magic. Designed to be inhaled. Carried on the wind. The results were...beyond what he had words for.

Death had seemed like a certainty and then he felt Ali searching for him. Felt the connection return between his babies. Heard their chatter. Blinding pain. Agony far worse than the actual injury as a strange power burned through him. Feeling his ribs mend and a whole host of other things repair themselves had been unbearable.

"Boss? Natsu?" He asked, trying to move, but she held him still.

"They're both fine. Still cleaning up. But ...we're it," The admittance left Bickslow feeling cold inside."Whatever he let off down there, it spread in the air. We're lucky," And yet she didn't look it. No more than Bickslow felt it.

Suddenly the fact that she was sitting in his lap and had just kissed the hell out of him started registering and Bickslow felt himself start blushing furiously. His babies started chanting her name and he hushed them, focusing on other things till he could work out what was happening.

"You kept them going?" Bickslow looked at the toys as they flew around the room. He could feel his magic mingling with hers. The dolls were almost hyper and very conflicted.

"Yes, now please help me _get fucking rid of them_ ," She growled but he saw, _felt_ the soft humour in it.

"Yeah, they _can_ be cheeky little fucks," He reached out to them with his magic and started breaking their connection to her. The threads were now so thick the process wasn't simply difficult, it was _sweat_ inducing. "Fucking hell, these are _chains,_ not threads," He chuckled in disbelief.

Her expression didn't change but he felt her amusement; the urge to say something smug overshadowed while she reveling in the sight of his sweat clad face, scrunched up in extreme focus. He could understand why those connections had been fortified like they had. It wasn't simply his babies she'd been taking care of, it had been him, too. She'd made the links as tough as she could to sustain whatever magic she'd forced across to heal him.

He fell backwards onto the bed when he was finished and she sat unmoving, still straddling him. An awareness of which was slowly growing.

Opening his mouth to speak she put her fingers to his lips and closed her eyes.

"You hear that?" She asked him softly, muffling his answer of 'no'. "That's the sound of glorious _silence,"_ She opened her eyes to stare at the possessed toys, almost all of which were excitedly expressing their joy at no longer being tied to the strange, angry interloper.

All of them bar Pappa who lingered on Bickslow's chest, soft cloth arms outstretched to her.

 _"You?_ ...You're okay," She whispered under her breath. Pappa zoomed off delighted with the quiet approval.

She watched the doll join the others as they flew around the room. They wouldn't be missed, but it _had_ certainly been interesting. Bickslow's proximity wasn't quite as overwhelming as it had been, his defenses were back and his mind was elsewhere. Her own senses had been numbed somewhat by the overstimulation of his totems during the two days they'd been connected. She wasn't as sensitive as usual right now.

"Back in your jar, guys," Bickslow's voice rang out. And the dolls fell lifelessly to the floor.

"YOU FUCKING KIDDING ME? THAT'S ALL I HAD TO DO?" Alma screeched to the heavens.

Bickslow laughed, he'd never seen a more appealing sight than her sitting over him like that and while she was momentarily distracted, he flipped her, reversing their positions and pinning her underneath. She legitimately squeaked to find him hovering above. The air was palpable between them, and when he leaned in it was to kiss her languidly, resting his weight on his forearm beside her head and cupping her face with his free hand.

"You are _insane,_ and funny, and badass and probably one of the most amazingly confusing people I've ever met..." Bickslow pulled back to say before leaving one last kiss against her lips. "And if you let other people see you the way you let me, they'd love you, too."

"I don't need to be loved by other people," There was something about the way she said that, that sent a pang of something thrilling through him. What he'd heard, that she hadn't said, were the words 'only you'.

"You don't _need_ anything, remember?" He said, reminding her of her favorite line. "But its okay to _want,"_ Bickslow punctuated the words by grinding against her; satisfied by the gasp of breath before she clutched his shoulders tightly.

He could already tell that when things progressed the sex would likely be mind blowing. He _was_ in love with a highly versatile empathic mage. She _wasn't_ most women and while _that_ aspect of their relationship he knew would be a slow uphill process, it would be worth it, he knew that as much as the rest.

"When all of this is over I'm going to take you to some nice beach resort and _show_ you everything you don't _need,"_ He smiled at her and climbed off the bed leaving her a little flushed.

Owlish eyes blinked at him for a moment before narrowing curiously, wondering what he was doing.

"I'd actually love to continue but my own breath is actually making _me_ gag," He flashed her an apologetic smile filled with all kinds of future promise. "Don't know how you aren't fucking green and retching," He joked.

She sat up and crossed her legs underneath her, arching an eyebrow _at_ him.

"I've eaten maggots out of a dead body. Your breath doesn't bother me _,"_

Bickslow didn't immediately respond. He watched her face for any of the usual little twitches that told him she might have been pulling his leg. To his revulsion she looked perfectly serious.

"That's...pretty fucking hardcore," That first mouthful of water felt incredible, Bickslow decided. "So, how do they taste? Maggots?"

"Not the worst, definitely not good," She considered. "Its mostly the texture. Encourages people to just swallow them and then you sometimes end up with a few survivors that wriggle on the way down. Let me say, that is _far_ worse than the rest,"

At his look of utter horror she burst out laughing.

"All you Boscans with your soft palates," She jeered.

"Says the woman that burned a hard boiled egg and sent me to Porlyusica with food poisoning from undercooked chicken. Not to mention..." He raised his finger accusingly. " _Not to mention_ , who the hell doesn't like _raspberries?"_

 _"Me._ And I don't hate _all_ raspberries, I hate _Sevenese_ raspberries. They're _too_ sweet. I'd rather be eating maggots."

Bickslow took off his shirt and started cleaning himself up at the basin. The good thing about these underground fortresses was that they drew water easy enough out of the earth this deep under the sand. They'd run out of air before water. A cursory glance over his shoulder found her staring at his naked back.

"Like what you see, sweetpea?" He smirked over at her.

"Just thinking about how jealous Ever must be. She spends so much on those potions and creams and here you are with skin like a Boscan courtiers backside," She drawled.

Bickslow turned to face her.

"Okay, I'll give you props, that was pretty special," A smile broke his face at her come back. She had a sharp tongue when she was willing to use it. "Though, I'm not gonna ask how you'd even know what a Boscan courtiers ass feels like," He rumbled.

 _"Good,_ I'm ...not comfortable talking about it," He loved her directness, never realizing just how much. She caught the expression. "You don't talk much about your home back in Bosco," She'd noticed he avoided the subject constantly. If it didn't involve its native alcohols or the lack of hangups over anonymous sex then he didn't mention it. She knew he'd had to leave his home when he was younger. Seith magic in many places was deemed unnatural. Which as far as she was concerned was ridiculous; because if there was something wrong with _it,_ then all magics should have been subject to the same analysis. But Alma knew it was just fear. Fear of being controlled. Being manipulated. Losing your free will. Bickslow, though, he had a soft heart. Too soft to misuse it to spread fear. To good to let it corrupt him. She knew this because Jera was still alive when Eli took her with him, even after trying to kill the Seith. Bickslow could have made her do anything. Hurt her comrades, attack her father but he'd let Jera go. His final act had been to protect _her_ while she slept. His instincts were to help, not to harm. She couldn't always say the same. Often she had the opposite reaction, having to willfully refrain from some far from measured reactions.

"But I won't ask about _them,_ either," Was Alma's considered retort about the subject of his family.

"Good," Bickslow laughed. There were still some things between them neither were willing to talk about at present. But they were both accepting of that. "Y'know, you're a _great_ kisser," Bickslow smiled at her.

"One of many inherited skills," There was an expectant pause while he waited for her to elaborate but she left it at that. He'd been hoping she'd reveal some hobbies but he wasn't sure she had any.

"I'm gonna go help bury the last of them and hope no one decides to burn them. There's rights to adhere to. They'll need to be buried with salt," She groaned suddenly. "We have literally weeks of air, and that would suddenly be _days_ if a fire broke out," She explained, very much aware that for good or ill, they were stuck down here and would be for a while. Desperately she pleaded with the Universe that Natsu didn't get it in his head to start one.

"I'm gonna try find some food," Bickslow wasn't necessarily unhappy to be leaving the body disposal to them. It wasn't a certainty his recently healed, currently rather empty stomach could take the smell until it settled.

 _"Oh,_ Natsu made a pot of something. I'd recommend you avoid it. What it would more than likely do to you I'm not sure even I'd be able to fix," There was moment of question between them and the corner of her mouth upturned in that sly way. " _Don't worry_ , you'll know it when you smell it," She chuckled, leaving the room.

Bickslow sat on the bed and paused putting on his boots. He was fairly sure that he was now in some sort of moderately serious relationship again; currently willing to exclusively see someone. Not even the crypt- like feel of this place, or the horrible, horrible events that put him in that bed could change that almost giddy feeling the knowledge brought.

Now, maintaining that while the world around them went to hell, that would be the tricky thing.

But, Gajeel and Levy managed it, exactly how hard could it be?

* * *

Notes

Next chapter is gonna include smut. I warn thee now!

HUGE thanks to all my reviewers and the messages of support and an EMORMOUS hug for bluenightingalee on tumblr. You are the BEST!

Big thanks to Desna, kmmcm, Weezel474, and all the guests reviews to date.

Its gotten pretty warm over my side of things the last week and this was a hard chapter to put together while the heat quite literally fried my brain. I was intensely in character mode. And can I tell you, keeping a character you made up in character is fucking hella difficult.

Thanks for reading, and hopefully the next chapter (already written and due up tomorrow) will keep you satiated for the moment. There's only so long people can dance around each other. Don't worry though, there's plenty still to go wrong.


	10. Chapter 10

"So, just to be clear, no one has any ideas on how to get us out of here?" Laxus asked, trying to clarify the consensus of their little meeting. He was frustrated and desperate, and while they knew it wasn't personally directed at them, he'd been in absolutely foul humour the last few days.

"The only way to get to the surface is by boro or sand mage. We have neither," Alma tried to reason with him. It was unfair for Laxus to be blaming them for anything.

"I don't need to be told what we don't have. Or plans that won't work. I need suggestions that aren't a suicidal attempt to blast a hole in the roof," Natsu had drawn his ire on that one.

"I don't know what to tell you, boss, if there's a way out of here, I haven't thought of it yet," Bickslow shrugged. He may have appeared casual but he was as worried as the rest of them. He knew as well that Ali was eager to begin the search for Jera and was trying as hard as she could to distract herself from the very real possibility that the girl was already dead. Bickslow didn't want to entertain an idea of what she'd do if that was the case. He'd watched her shred souls. Tear them apart like paper. And it was an easier process for her than putting them together.

Currently silent, Natsu growled under his breath before stalking off. Trapped underground in a place that smelled more like death every day was doing a number on the Dragon Slayers. Their sanity was hanging by a thin thread. To top it off, the potion that had been released to the air down here hadn't dissipated. As Natsu and Laxus's anxiety rose, so to did their susceptibility to whatever drove the others mad enough to kill each other. Bickslow and Alma could feel it. How close they were coming to losing it.

Back in the training sand Bickslow found himself on his back for the tenth time in as many minutes. It was all he'd spent the last few days doing; having his ass kicked. His apparent attempt to fight her had only left her with the impression that he needed vast improvement.

"You have reach, height, you're _not_ without ability..." Ali planted a bare foot square in his chest. "...so why do you think you're so easy to take down?" She asked him.

"Cause you're like some sexy fucking _snake?"_ Bickslow laughed and she applied some more pressure to his newly bruised ribs. _"Fine,_ you're too fast," He muttered, a painful cough found its way passed his lips and he tasted copper. Maybe they were more than bruised.

She extended him a hand and helped him up and like all the times before, the wounds were gone in moments.

"It's not because I'm _too fast_. There are ways around it. I make mistakes just like every other fighter does. I'm over confident and I tend to aim for upper body targets when I should be going low. A side effect from when I was taller," She wiped sweat from her head and sighed. "I keep beating you because you don't want to hurt me. Like I'm a wallflower that'll crumple under a fist. You hold yourself back." Her expression was dour.

"Seith magic is about avoiding the fight. Long range stuff. Its not exactly a confrontational magic."

"And I manipulate feelings and impulses, oh, and I sing, _your point_?"

She had valid concerns. When it came to fighting his tactics were far removed from the close quarters stuff she was drilling him over. But there was only one known Seith mage practicing Human soul possession and he was a member of Fairy Tail, if this job got any messier, his was probably the most recognizable magic. There were plenty of fire mages in Atla and lightning wasn't exactly as uncommon as Laxus liked to believe. His was the only magic that would instantly be trackable. Besides, he could admit she was a good teacher, great even. Observant, methodical, she knew his limits almost better than he did. And he got to spend time with her.

"Then I suppose you'll be seeing a lot of sky," She smiled. "Or getting a good look at my feet."

"There are worse things to be stuck looking at, Ali," He almost sang the words before closing the distance between them and pressing himself close to her. He took hold of her wrist and removed the cuff she was wearing, noticing with interest that when he did, he suddenly didn't need to make physical contact to draw a reaction. Bringing his hands to her hips but not actually touching the skin still made her tremble. Leaning down to her ear he whispered to her.

"You've no idea how much I want to touch you right now," The sound came out a rasping husk. He hadn't been with a woman in very close to a year, and he'd always had a healthy appetite for sex. To now be in a situation where his frustrations, his very almost out of control desire, was one of the things standing in his way was the Universe's most cruel prank yet. They were like magnets now, constantly being pulled together.

It wasn't lost on him that the other day with her had been so productive because he'd been too numb to be the overwhelming presence he currently was. There was always the anti magic cuffs, but they weren't ideal, and they wouldn't help her with this in the long run. Using them when they were close was only going to become a new crutch. She needed to train herself, too.

"Oh..." She grinned at him with eyes clenched tight. "...I _know, believe me!"_ Her laughter rang out. "This is _ridiculous_ ," Bickslow felt like pulling his hair out. He could shield her from most of it, but not this. Now, no matter how much he tried to hide it, now, if he was close and she had her magic, she felt that yearning.

"Just a standard case of sexual frustration," He sighed miserably. "I guess I should go cool off, before I become too much of a _distraction._ I'll see you later," Bickslow found himself saying, punctuating the statement with a dry humourless laugh. His plans also involved vigorously relieving the pressure currently hardening in his pants. For all the good that seemed to do.

 _"Wait,"_ She said, reaching out and taking his arm. He witnessed the effect touching him had on her. No magic power in his possession could protect her from that once she made contact and when she touched him he had no control over it, his walls toppled like brittle chalk, everything hitting her at once. He could feel her skin practically hum in response to him. "I think I _need_ some distraction," He couldn't read her expression and though her soul was leaking through, its aura was a jumble of confused colours.

She tugged him behind her and he followed her out off the sand, and down the corridors; it took him only a moment to comprehend that she was leading them back to her room and after fumbling uncharacteristically with her own door she pulled him inside and sat him on the bed.

There was a moment of excitement that hit so hard it almost caused his heart to stop beating there and then when he heard the door lock.

"I thought you said its too much to deal with? This?" Bickslow gestured between them, indicating the couple status. He gasped when she climbed into his lap facing him, tugging on his hair, just the right side of too hard.

"Running hasn't worked well for us so far and I think this is only going to get worse if we aren't willing to do something about it."

"Are you sure you're up for this? You look a little shaky?" Bickslow asked, his own voice shaking. He was literally driving her out of her mind right now. He really didn't want her to do anything she'd otherwise regret

"Yes!" She kissed him and he lost all grasp on reason; his energy made her shudder violently, grabbing onto his arms while her senses were assaulted. Ali was dealing with it in the only way that Ali dealt with anything. Directly. Charging in. Now that she already knew her own mind on the subject, knew her own feelings, she was willing to chance this. Like jumping straight into cold water. "I _will_ develop some control, but I'm going to have to know how to let go first."

Wrapping his arms around her lightly, he found he dwarfed her. She was smaller than him, so, so much smaller, it was hard to gauge just how much in person, but whatever magic had made this body for her had constructed something far stronger than most men. Her size was a deception. A dangerous one.

When she gripped him by the shoulders, he really felt it. He wasn't weak, but she wasn't afraid of utilizing her strength and reminding him she was stronger, while he was soft hands and feather touch, she held him firmly. Demanding the same in return.

Under his palms there were thick cords of flexing muscle. Tantalizingly tight. When she moved her hips he could feel the muscles in her upper back pull and push under her skin, ripple outward. He sucked in a heavy, heated breath. Just being allowed to touch her made him weak. This was for him. Only for him. That in itself was a heady concept.

She laughed, kissing him again, and he hissed, pained when she nipped his bottom lip rather harshly. She wasn't a doll that would let him do as he pleased with her, her movements were needy and possessive; small hands digging into his shoulders while, with something very much like experience, she rolled her hips against his rather roughly. Heated and fluid. Bickslow let his head fall back in a low groan very close to losing himself. He felt her presence in a way beyond the physical; could feel things emanating from her while her magic was finally given free rein to run rampant. It didn't just reach out for him, it moved through him.

Her advice to him had been about not holding back for fear of hurting her, and Ali must have realized in a way she'd been doing the same.

Sliding his hands up her torso he tenderly brushed them across her chest before twisting his fingers in the leather straps over her shoulders and releasing her from its confines. He hastily undid the catches on her sides and took the armour off leaving her in a loose tunic. When he brought his hands back up to touch her she bucked forcefully against him, feeling the sensation so strongly, so intensely that the jolt rippled right through Bickslow as well, leaving him panting, suddenly sweaty.

"Sweet holy _fuck,"_ He breathed, his face was red and flushed, and he was almost certain if she moved against him again he'd ruin his boxers. He hesitated to touch her for the same reason.

And then she did something he genuinely wasn't expecting, she too his hand in hers and brought them back up to her breasts, face focused and determined, Bickslow knew the instant he touched her hardening nipples because the pleasure she felt at the contact she sent right back through him and he saw genuine stars. He felt himself lose it, clutching at her so tight it had to have hurt, before letting his head fall forward, his forehead left to rest in the her shoulder. His lungs ached with the force of breath he'd taken in, in shock.

She'd just brought him to orgasm without so much as laying a hand on him below the shoulders. What he made her feel, she sent back his way and them some. It crossed his mind that without his defenses, she could theoretically make him climax remotely; make him feel pleasure without even being touched. For a guy that thought he'd experienced it all, the prospect of something so sinfully new was beyond thrilling. He felt the tension he'd been carrying, all the way down into his bones it seemed, deflate and he was left with the urge to sleep for a week.

"Feel better?" Her bright eyes seemed to shine with the question, already knowing the answer.

"Definitely, but now I feel a bit guilty, not really in my nature to leave a woman unsatisfied," He smiled, kissing her again. Slower and less heated than before. He was relaxed, finally, and now that he wasn't driving her crazy with his sexual frustrations she was finally able to catch a breath.

"I can think about satisfaction when we get out of this deathtrap. And I may have an idea on that front."

"And when the hell did you come up with this?" He asked genuinely curious as to when this epiphany was meant to have occurred.

"It came to me between your second and third ass kicking," She noted the expression on his face. "Good at multitasking, remember?"

"You're pretty good at other stuff, too," He leaned in to nip at her throat and she squeaked in response. He pulled her down onto the bed with him before rolling away. "Don't _...move..."_ It sounded very much like a command, one that got him a rebellious smirk. Bickslow laughed, dropping his pants. "Gotta clean myself up a bit," At this point he would have been expecting a glimmer of embarrassment, most women would flush and look away if a man spontaneously dropped their pants and boxers in front of them. But she didn't. She didn't even look away from his face. There was no reaction.

She caught the flicker of disappointment in his eyes; that she wasn't even intrigued, he was fairly prided in the knowledge that for a man he was well endowed.

"It's a _penis._ You have one. Would you like me to make a sketch of it and describe it to you in _song?"_ She drawled, humorlessly. "I've found it's generally considered rude no matter where you are to stare at someone's genitalia when you're speaking with them."

"And when did you start concerning yourself with being seen as rude?" He huffed.

"When I was alone in a place filled with people I couldn't trust, a penchant to sleep through literal wars and the likelihood of having my throat cut in my sleep if someone took offense," Her voice and expression were flat.

"I guess that's a good a reason as any to be polite," Bickslow teased.

"I'd hardly call it being polite. And as impressive as your manhood might be to some blushing virgin..." She sat up, propped on her elbows. " _I've had_ _bigger,"_ The smirk was back on her face.

"You mean, owned or...?" He left the question hanging unanswered.

 _"_ Which one would hurt your ego the least, _su'parro?"_

His laughter could probably be heard all the way down the hall.

"Oh man, you're really something..." He muttered under his breath, jokingingly. Leaving his ruined boxers on the floor and pulling his pants back on he climbed back onto the bed and lay down beside her.

"You got it all figured out, don't you?" There was a spark in his eyes she couldn't read; he was bouncing her magic back at her when she tried. Defenses squarely back in place.

"I spend the time I'm not talking, thinking. I'd recommend you try it sometime, that's if you can stop that tongue of yours wagging long enough," The way she teased and mocked him was unrivalled. She let him get away with nothing.

The words had barely left her mouth when he rolled over her.

"I don't think you know _anything_ about my wagging tongue," He growled at her letting it loll out of his mouth for emphasis as he settled between her legs. Sitting back he pulled at the waist of her pants, lifting her legs up and taking them and her underwear off in a slow maneuver he enjoyed more than he thought possible, locking eyes with her all the way. She covered herself pretty thoroughly out in public, only rarely exposing skin if she could help it, but she lay there, nude from the waist down, her open collared tunic having slipped off one shoulder, and she didn't cover herself up. He didn't ask any specific details about the lives she'd experienced before this one, but there was Boscan in there he'd swear.

This was the part of her that no other living person had never experienced, ever seen. Every misery Bickslow had ever experienced, it was all but forgotten with the sight of her.

Now that he wasn't overwhelming her with his own feelings she was free to enjoy his attentions just like anyone else. It wasn't a hard stretch to come to the conclusion that a man enamoured with sex wouldn't have spent a portion of his time putting an asset as good as his tongue to effective use in the bedroom. Especially one as unique as his own.

 _"Gods above_..." The sound of that first cry from her had him hardening all over again.

From the blood flow and moisture and _heat_ radiating, practically glistening between her legs, Bickslow knew that he hadn't been the only one feeling the frustration in this particular instance.

It was a skill in observance as much as anything. Especially the first time. Did she like speed or pressure? Did she prefer to be teased or was she as much to the point as her personality might have led Bickslow to believe. He discovered she liked it slow. Generous sweeping motions that lingered and circled when they reached the most sensitive parts. Her hands fisted tightly in his hair before moving to the bedspread when she found herself tugging a little too hard. He didn't have to say anything, she just knew. He felt her writhe against his mouth as she got closer before her hands moved up to her pillow, pulling at it so hard during climax, it ripped in two. She was quiet, even at the end. A gutteral grunt as she bucked off the bed was all he got for his efforts; that and a mouthful of some kind of downy feather that completely covered the room. He wondered if he'd somehow been led on about his skills in the bedroom until her red face lifted to look at him and he saw her grinning like a fool. Flushed and sweaty. Breathing hard.

"And now I see why you have so many stalkers back in Magnolia," Her head fell back to the mattress lifelessly.

"I do _not_ have _stalkers!"_ He pulled some feathers out of his mouth with a chuckle. "I have women interested in a round two," He affirmed glibly. Ali laughed at him, so hard she rolled over onto her side hiccuping.

"I've had a least three death threats from your ex-bedwarmers. You have stalkers, Bickslow," She found the idea amusing. Bickslow suddenly found it terrifying.

"I don't find that particularly funny," The notion that one or more of his previous flings might have actually threatened her made his blood run cold.

"It's _very_ funny."

Slowly, he crawled up over her in the bed, running fingers through her damp hair. She still kept it short. Still in the same style. His was longer now.

"On the subject of round twos," His breath brushed her chin and the implication was clear without drawing her eye to his new erection.

Her face grew serious.

"I don't want you to make a big deal out of this, but. _.._ I don't want the first time to be down here," It sounded ridiculous considering how the previous half hour had been spent, but Bickslow saw that there was more to it than that and he'd already ruined one pair of boxers; he couldn't exactly complain.

This place had been her home for months and in hours almost everyone she'd known was dead. Bickslow felt like a jackass for failing to consider the possibility that she _might_ be a little more than uncomfortable down here after everything that happened.

"But you do want there to be a first time?" She tugged his hair and pulled his head back just enough that he was looking into her face.

" _Look at me_ ," Her voice was barely above a whisper.

And she didn't mean look at her with his eyes alone. There was currently no magic wall dividing her from him and for the first time since she fought Calus he saw her soul in its entirety. It was like the darkening night sky laced with light and foreign colour. With marbling of golds and reds in various shades. Like a sunrise or a sunset. And then there were the waves of luminous green growing through her; when he touched them he knew these colours belonged to him and that his separation hadn't killed them off; in his absence they'd only grown.

He felt the tenderness she felt for him, but he saw further than that. Snippets of memory flashed through his mind. The day of the BBQ. She'd worn a _dress._ She'd worn a dress for _him._ She'd worn a dress and hadn't spontaneously _combusted._

She loved him so much she didn't even know what to do with herself. Didn't have the words for it. Barely even recognized the feeling. Her soul sang for _him;_ without him she didn't even have the _will_ to sing. The only times in her life she'd known true bone shaking terror had been when she thought she would lose him.

She'd felt his absence like _death._ Worse than death.

"Don't think that I'm asking for a family introduction, but yes, a first, and a second and a third. And breakfasts. And any future jobs that involve elderly women who may or may not be soul stealing, bottom feeding _hags,"_ He laughed at that. She'd be holding that job over him till the ending of all time.

"My family..." He hadn't even thought about it. Logically, it could be argued that since he got on so well with her, his family would too. But, that wasn't necessarily the case. His home back in Bosco was fairly traditional. True, his father was also incredibly open minded, his job pretty much demanded it, but he was also well spoken, with poise and etiquette. It was pretty standard behaviour for a father to greet a prospective female partner for their son with a hug and a kiss, by complimenting them on their beauty or some visible feature.

Unless it was how well Ali managed to clean the blood out of the intricate hilts on her swords, that wasn't going to be a good first time meeting. She wouldn't be willing to be touched, and Boscans were pretty handsy sometimes. He suddenly had several scenes play out in his head. His father ending up with a black eye and his brothers ending up in a brawl with his girlfriend.

The concern on his face wasn't missed.

"I'm not a _complete_ savage. If I can stop myself from punching Erza while she tries to force feed me cake, I think I can manage them. I'm not going to dump a severed head on the dinner table," The smile on her face told him a part of her was considering the image and she was more than likely intrigued by the prospect.

"Don't go giving yourself any ideas," He left a kiss on her cheek. "Besides, the last time I even saw my father was about five years ago. He's the only member of my family that really spends any time at all outside of Bosco. It's not exactly safe for me to be visiting home," The likelihood of her ever meeting any member of his family were slim. Thankfully slimmer than the chance that they'd like her enough to approve at all.

"Then we'll just have to find a way to make it safe," She said in all seriousness.

He lay down beside her lost in thought over his family. It had been such a long since he'd seen them all.

Considering the situation, the fact that she didn't want to have sex down here; he could live with that. "Okay, I think we got a little sidetracked before but I'll bite, sweetpea, what's this plan or yours?"

"About that...ever done a unison raid?"

* * *

Wild boro in Atla were pretty common out in the desert where they spent their days scouring under the surface of the sand, often for hours unseen, looking for prey. They were easily the best transport if you had the coin to hire a beast master to help you. They were fast above ground and almost invisible under.

Without a mage to command them though, they wouldn't willingly venture down as far as the compound. A beast master or a Seith specializing in animal souls could do it but they didn't have either, and Alma could only influence them so far. Getting them this deep down away from the heat of the sun was something her power wouldn't be able to convince them of.

But between her and Bickslow's failings, there was a solution. A combination of their magics might be enough. Bickslow's figure eyes could only work if you were looking at him but Ali's magic was able to reach much farther and animal souls were something she was growing familiar with.

She could find a wild Boro in the sands nearby and give him the reach to get it down to them. Once on the base she could keep it calm enough to hitch a ride out of here. Exposure to the cold would mean its first trip would be straight up to the surface to bask in the sun. Exactly where they wanted to be.

Bickslow thought it was a good plan. Laxus thought it was a better plan than Natsu's and that seemed to clench them for an attempt.

"So have you every done a unison raid before?" She asked him, honestly a little nervous. There was a lot to be nervous of. The backlash to both of them if it went wrong could be pretty unpleasant.

"Nope. Seith magic isn't very compatible with most magics," It didn't even touch on the fact that most _people_ weren't compatible with Seith magic. No doubt it was possible. Hell, Bickslow had seen the Redfox's pull one off, _anything_ was possible, but there was an element of trust and an element of synchronization that he couldn't make work with your standard mage.

The look of confused horror on Laxus's face when he pinched her ass was pretty entertaining. Made even more so when she turned around and gave him no more than an exasperated glare. Bickslow heard Natsu mutter what sounded like 'no way' under his breath.

A simple pinch had just established to the group their new relationship status.

"I'm trying to concentrate, Bickslow. This part isn't easy, especially with those two churning like the little pots of anxiety that they are," She ground out. As much as he liked to kid around, he did understand. To reach out so far she was opening herself up in a pretty vulnerable way. He could see the lingering traces of that potion gnawing on the edges of her mind.

 _"Sorry, dear_ ," He responded sarcastically.

Her eyes narrowed, almost glazing over.

"Got one!" She reached out her hand and he grabbed it, trying to blank his mind.

Every unison raid was different. Depending on the magic used and the mages using it. This was like nothing Bickslow could compare.

He felt his magic move along hers, intertwined, stretching out through the sand and earth. She was his eyes in this; his direction. When they found the creature it was moving slowly, watchful. Searching for the tremors in the sand above that would indicate its next meal. Bickslow felt her seep her threads into it and his magic followed. Animal souls were so different to human ones. Foreign and strange. It was so much easier to lose yourself in the animal instincts that ruled them. To command them was a process without words and for a moment he almost felt lost. Uncertain how he was actually going to do this. But Ali was there, leading him, showing him how. She kept the Boro calm while Bickslow took control. Time moved oddly for him then. There was a feeling of oppressive weight and a cold so deep if felt like his bones were freezing solid.

When he opened his eyes he found himself batting with Laxus's hands.

"Ali? Where's Ali?" He demanded, unable to sense her anymore.

"Calm down, she's fine," Laxus looked off to the side and cracked a smile. "She's trying to convince our ride to give Natsu back," He laughed.

Bickslow's brain reset over the course of several seconds before he fully comprehended what Laxus said.

"Wait, _what?"_

And then he saw it, a boro as big as a wyvern curled in the sand, wrapped around a flailing Natsu.

"Just fucking relax! The more you panic the hotter you're getting," Ali was shouting at him.

"THAT'S EASY FOR YOU TO SAY!" He screeched, squirming while the boro indicated its displeasure at his incessant movement, barring a hundred needle like teeth in a low, threatening hiss.

"It's cold, Natsu, the hotter you burn, the less likely its gonna be to let you go," She tried reasoning with him.

"JUST _MAKE_ HIM!"

"Make _her,_ and I can't, not until you _cool down_."

The room flashed green and Natsu was suddenly unconscious. Now asleep his body temperature began dropping again, the boro losing interest in moments.

It made to snap its jaws at Ali but stopped mid way, a deep rumbling in its torso. It cocked its head to the side quizzically.

"Its gonna start to want to head to the surface soon, grab your gear and get ready," Her voice was strained.

Bickslow was standing, but just barely, his left leg refused to carry any weight and he had no idea why. Laxus had packed supplies for them. Food, water, some essentials. They dressed in enchanted gear to protect them from the sun and tinted goggles.

"It came in thought the wall, crashed right into you two, then zeroed in on Salamander when he decided a fireball was a good repellant," Laxus recounted events but Bickslow couldn't remember any of that.

"Doesn't ring a bell," He said with a short laugh, across the room, Ali was struggling with the boro, trying to attach some rope to the horns protruding from it's skull and encountering resistance. Hers was _not_ beast mastery magic and she was already exhausted; the creature moving continuously while it fought against the calm she was feeding it with, but eventually she managed a secure enough knot and climbed up on its back. She didn't sit up, instead laying forward, pressing herself flat against its scales, indicating they should follow suit.

"You aren't moving as fast you need to be," She growled. The creature was growing impatient. It longed for the warmer sand. The hot sun. It would be leaving soon, regardless of who was riding it.

Laxus helped Bickslow up onto it's back, followed by a still sleeping Natsu. The thing was enormous. Especially by common standards. Most boro would be capable of seating one perhaps two people, this thing took up the entirety of the exit chamber. She had them wrap the line once around their waists and took the rear position tying it of with her.

"Grip with your knees and you should be able to get your finger between the scales. Keep your mouth covered. Head down. Hold on like your life depends on it. I'm not kidding when I say it does."

Bickslow could have sworn she was excited by the prospect of hitching a ride on it, Laxus on the other hand had turned white as a sheet.

When it started moving he wanted to start screaming. It was like trying to keep your balance during an earthquake. It bellowed a noise like a bird and then there was sand and dirt everywhere. Keeping his head down like he was told Bickslow held his breath. He could feel his legs ache, he clenched them so tight, but being buried alive was too terrifying a concept to let go.

He was light headed from lack of air when they finally broke the surface. The sun was so bright, and even through the goggles he was blinded. Once free and clear the boro shook itself, Ali taking the cue to let the rope loose, the rest of them got thrown into the burning sand after her while she laughed hysterically rolling down a sand dune, all the way to the bottom.

"I'm _never_ fucking doing that _ever again_ ," Laxus muttered brushing himself off. He pointed at Alma, growling. "Natsu's idea was better! You have no idea how hard it is for me to say that."

Bickslow was happy to be out...but he couldn't necessarily say he disagreed with the sentiment of that statement.

He wouldn't be doing that again and time soon. Notnifnhe could help it.

* * *

Notes

Gonna be about a week before the next chapter. Have been quite literally working 18 days straight in my job without a day off so I'm gonna take some to enjoy the good weather. Have no fear, I'll be back at it soon.

Huge thank yous to my reviewers! Weezel474 and Desna and _everyone_ following this!


	11. Chapter 11

Bickslow found himself hating Natsu just a little. The pink haired fool sauntered through the burning sand, no protective gear, not even the glimmer of sweat on his head, completely unaffected by the heat while the rest of them died a slow, hot death. Considering how long she'd been there already and the fact that her previous selves were natives, Ali handled the heat no better than the Bickslow or Laxus; sweltering away under the sun

They were all irritable, and despite the provisions, they had maybe one more day of water left and only Ali's word that they were heading in the right direction. Nightfall on the first day had brought up the stars and given her a direction, that she was somehow able to assure them was the way to the capital.

Her idea of close was two blistering days of walking in the sun; the heat seemed to be increasing as well. Bickslow hadn't thought it was possible for it to get any hotter than it was. He was very wrong.

"We've one day of water left," Laxus growled to Ali and Bickslow winced, he saw her jaw clench at the tone. "So you'd better be sure about the distance."

Bickslow watched her closely, close enough to see her struggle with an inner dialogue before coming out with a measured response. Clearly not her first, immediate one.

"The heat is a good sign we're close. They built the city at the hottest point in the desert, where the sun was strongest," She adjusted her goggles, skin sweaty and irritated underneath. "We should be able to see the citadel when the sun goes down."

At the moment Bickslow couldn't see anything; a sea of sand and a blinding sky ahead for miles, as far as the eye could see. He trusted her, but it was hard to argue with his eyes when he was hot, thirsty and couldn't even tell the direction of the sun at the moment; light seemed to come from everywhere at once.

Natsu handed him his own nearly full canteen of water. Bickslow stopped and stood there disbelievingly.

"This really doesn't effect you?" His eyes narrowed behind the googles. "Not even a bit?"

Natsu shrugged. The guy was too hot to freeze in the snow, too fireproof to burn in the sun. Bickslow swore under his breath before taking the offered canteen and taking a mouthful.

"Don't feel bad, Bix, you'll still always be the better swimmer," Natsu chortled with a derisive snort.

"Hell of a lot of comfort in a fucking desert," Bickslow grumbled. " _Thanks, man!_ " He snapped sarcastically. His feet were killing him. They'd long since stopped burning but they throbbed something terrible. He didn't even want to take off his boots; he was afraid of what he'd find. Something unpleasant he was sure. Ali shared the sentiment encouraging Laxus to follow his example. She said it wouldn't do them any good to think about it.

When night fell he saw it light up the dark sky, the bulk of it hidden by the sand dunes but the bright glow was unmistakeable; as visible as the look of pure smugness on Ali's face, even in the dark.

Now that he had a place to visualize and he knew their location in relation to that point, Laxus could teleport ahead without worrying that he'd lose the group. He vanished into the night while the group patiently waited for him to get back. Hopefully with more water. Enough at least to get them to the city.

With the sun down the desert got shockingly cold. Natsu started a fire while Bickslow sat beside Ali, the pair under a blanket as the winds tormented them. Laxus was back within the hour with water and something to eat, and now satisfied that shelter was in sight and they weren't under threat of starvation or dehydration, the mood drastically improved.

"Most you've ever made on a job?" Laxus asked Natsu. The four of them sitting in a circle around the fire playing a somewhat twisted up version of truth or dare. Everyone had a chance to ask anyone a question, they'd to answer honestly, and with two Dragon Slayers, an empath and a Seith mage, there wasn't going to be any chance for lies, and if you couldn't answer, or failed to, you were subject to a penalty dare of Bickslow's choosing, and _no one_ wanted that.

"About ten million jewel, and I still think it was cheap...but it paid for the house,"

"Come on, Natsu, don't leave us hanging, what was the job?" Bickslow laughed, impatient to hear whatever he did that earned him that much money and was apparently the reason he no longer took jobs from the swamp regions. Him and the Thunder legion had been away at the time and Bickslow hadn't heard the specifics, but Natsu rarely if ever backed down from a challenge, so the Seith knew it must have been bad.

"Hey! Not the way the game works, pal. You gotta wait your turn if you want to ask another question," Natsu smiled, knowing that by the time it went around again, Bickslow would probably have forgotten already.

"Fine," Bickslow sighed.

Natsu smirked.

 _"My turn!"_

Bickslow rubbed his hands together and beckoned Natsu to continue.

"Show me what you got, Flame Brain!"

"Okay, most embarrassing moment in bed with a woman?" Natsu came out with.

"Oh, I know this one!" Alma said out loud with a sudden smile.

Bickslow closed his eyes groaning.

"That has to be when he accidentally handcuffed himself in bed, lost the keys and his partner had to call _me_ to come over and break him out," She smiled, pleased to suddenly have something she could contribute. She lived a fairly boring life these days. The only remotely amusing thing she'd done had been accidentally sitting in lasagna.

Laxus and Natsu looked to Bickslow for confirmation, the man now had his eyes covered and was groaning miserably.

"Give the woman a cookie, she's right!" Laxus laughed.

Bickslow had actually been thinking of something else, but she was right, the incident he'd been thinking of was possibly not quite _that_ embarrassing. He looked at Ali and grinned a smile she knew was going to spell trouble. The purpose of the game was to get to know each other a little better, but she could tell she'd overstepped again and he was going to try make her pay.

"Okay, sweetness, most irritating physical difference between being a man and being a woman?"

Letting out a breath of air in relief that it wasn't something she couldn't answer, she chuckled to herself.

"Sitting down awkwardly and pinching a ball...and periods. Oh, the gods were cruel when they gave women menstrual cramps," The look on her face was more than glum.

"They _really_ all that bad?" Laxus laughed. Like most men, you heard about them, knew what they were, but there was no real comparison.

"I have memories of pain so bad it caused blackouts. Not so terrible this time round; can definitely vary. Really, though, _not_ a joke," She looked serious before it dawned on her that the game was starting again and it was now her chance to ask Bickslow something personal. Ali thought long and hard, pondering it.

"The tattoo on your face. How did you get it?" Her question fell among absolute silence, only the crackle of the fire to break the tension suddenly crushing the atmosphere of the camp.

Laxus appeared to want to interrupt but chose to let Bickslow answer instead. The Seith giving him a look letting him know it was okay. Ali genuinely didn't know about it. As a subject it had never come up.

"It was done to identify me as a Seith mage when I was ten. It's resistant to magic, so you can't cover it with an illusion. The damn thing even shows after transformation spells. This..." He pointed to his face. "...this is a permanent brand. Not a tattoo," His laugh was entirely without humor. It was downright bitter.

"Fiore never had the same problems with Seith mages that Bosco did. They had entire dark guilds of the fuckers. Made a right mess," Laxus explained. Most in Fiore would never even know what it meant. The old magic council gave Bickslow a free pass because of Fairy Tail's reputation and the fact he was the last. But back in Bosco was a different story. It was a Boscan symbol. People would know what it meant. And while he had never broken any laws, the fact that he practiced the magic was enough to ensure that he would be watched closely for the rest of his life. When he fled his home, it was because they were moving to confiscate his soul jar.

"So it's not by choice?" She asked, actually a little shocked. The way he walked around Magnolia had never indicated he was ashamed of it, or hated it.

"No. Wasn't my choice."

"Would you conceal it if you had the choice? Because I could hide it for you...if you wanted, of course?" She said, startling him.

"Magic doesn't work on it," Bickslow was grateful for the offer, but this wasn't the first time someone had tried to cover it with magic. It not only resulted in failure, it some times resulted in injury. They were designed specifically to be resistant to tampering.

"I know a magic that will," She uttered smiling and pulling a small container out of her satchel. He couldn't see precisely what she was mixing, but it looked like makeup. "Turn around!"

He looked to Laxus who seemed like he was about to erupt into hysterical laughter and ground out a quick "shush you!" Natsu on the other hand was staring in fascination.

She started dabbing his face with the solution, constantly adjusting the mixture till she found the right tone, the tattoo disappearing as she went until it was finally gone. The final stage was in a small spray bottle.

"This is the only actual magic involved, but I'm certain because it's not actually going to touch the mark itself, we shouldn't have a problem," She said spritzing him with the solution.

The potion hit the makeup and all traces of her smudged makeup vanished. She leaned in, examining him closely, satisfied with the work. He looked at Laxus and his friend was sitting there open mouthed. Because the makeup wasn't magical it didn't react to the brand, and because the light concealment magic wasn't actually touching the mark, only the makeup on top, it didn't react. Instead, it did its job, blending the makeup with the skin around it, making it completely indistinguishable.

"I can't even tell. What the hell is that stuff?" Laxus asked her.

"It's my under eye concealer," There was a look on her face daring them to say anything about it. When you didn't get much sleep, assistance was often necessary so you didn't look entirely dead.

Pulling out a small mirror and waving it in front of him, Bickslow got a look at his bare face for the first time since he was ten years old. He...genuinely didn't recognise the man in it. Older, a little haggard. Without the tattoo to distract you, it was clear there was a lot more going on than you'd assume from his demeanor. There was

"How long does this stuff last?" Bickslow asked her in wonder.

"The makeup? Just a few hours, but the magical setting spray will keep it intact, smudge proof, water proof and invisible for up to two days."

"I'll need to get some for Lucy!" Natsu said grinning.

"Where do you think I got this?" Ali fired back to him with a small upturn at the corner of her mouth. "Your girlfriend's dark circles are bigger than _mine."_

"You don't talk this much back home. Don't think you said more than a few words when you came with us on our last job," Laxus was seeing more of her that he'd ever before. She wasn't one to involve herself with people back at the guild. Not voluntarily.

"It's difficult to tune you all out. Makes it hard to focus sometimes."

Natsu looked thoughtful.

"Just like us. Any idea how annoying it is to literally smell everything? You know who's going out with who. What people had for breakfast. How long its been since they showered. Accidentally eavesdropping on conversations, as well, there are some things I just don't want to hear," The fire Dragon Slayer listed them off.

"Gajeel and Levy going at it like rabbits in the hallways upstairs in the guild hall," Laxus shook his head. "Not even the decency to use one of the rooms like civilized folk," Bickslow knew enough about Laxus to know he'd screwed his fair share of women in hallways.

"Let's not go throwing stones in that pond, eh, boss?" Bickslow winked at him. "Who knows what'll float to the surface, right?"

Alid however was thinking about what Natsu had said. It was true, similarities could be drawn between them.

"How do _you_ block it out?" There was an eagerness to her question.

 _"Practice!"_ Laxus answered with a laugh. "But I'd recommend you maybe think about asking Gajeel when you get back. He's got plenty of experience with meditation. You could trade him some singing lessons," He grinned.

"I'll consider it," She said. "But I don't think he needs lessons," The statement left the others perplexed for a moment before she smiled. "He needs help coming to terms with the fact he's _tone deaf_."

Laxus' water went the wrong way he laughed so hard and he was left coughing, red faced. It took him and Natsu about five minutes to recover. Wrapped under the blanket Bickslow rubbed small circles in her lower back. Letting her know he was proud of the effort she was making with the conversation.

"One thing I always wondered..." Laxus looked unsure of his own question. He knew it was a personal one that not everyone in her position would be comfortable sharing. "...and you don't need to answer if you don't want to," Her head visibly perked, shoulders stiff. " But _just_ how many people are you made up of?" Laxus questioned. Unsure of just how much she'd answer.

"Fifty-three," Ali responded, not missing a beat. Fifty three individual souls, fragments of their memories, their personalities, their skills and hobbies. Although, most of them she'd forgotten. It was hard to keep track of what she kept and why sometimes.

Bickslow was just happy to see them interact on such good terms. Fairy Tail was as much her family as it was his. Whether she realized it it not she fit in there; it was a guild that prided itself on collecting the misfits.

"Do you think Jera and Eli are in the capital?"

The tone of the conversation changed entirely with Bickslow's question. She toward the city.

"This is the only place in range. They couldn't have gone anywhere else even if they'd wanted to. They would have had to come here for supplies. Even if they left, the capital is the next stage regardless."

Laxus nodded in agreement.

"I spoke with a few traders in the marketplace. We shouldn't have too much trouble blending in in the lower districts of the city. Seems pretty much a melting pot from the neighboring countries. Lot of foreign mercenaries. A lot more than Atlan anyway."

"Believe me, the reasons they leave are pretty good excuses not to come back," Ali intoned with a whisper.

"Well, the Boscan Embassy should be our first destination. I'm still a Boscan citizen regardless of the Seith status and we have leverage we can use when were there. I for one know they have a bathhouse for guests, and I don't think I've ever wanted a shower more in my entire life," A wistful expression crossing his face.

"If you leave the mark covered, would they even know you were a Seith?" Laxus asked.

"Probably not, I could give them one of my brothers' names," Bickslow seemed suddenly happy. Even if they contacted his family back home, they'd back him up.

Ali started putting her bag away and Bickslow grabbed her arm suddenly.

"What the hell is this?" His voice rose in pitch, disbelievingly staring into the bottom of her bag. There was a mixture of shock and horror on his face.

"He didn't want to go back in the jar," The words came out sheepishly as Pappa crawled out of the bottom of her bag. "I didn't think it was a big deal,"

"You little fucking traitor!" Eyes narrowed, he glared at the doll. "How the hell did he get out?" He directed his question at his girlfriend who pursed her lips nonchalantly, confused at Bickslow sudden anger. Entirely focused on keeping his feelings at bay as he gripped her.

"The lid came off when that boro hit us. Found it in my bag the first day. He refused to go back, so..." She started to say but a rarely furious Bickslow interrupted her.

"So you kept it around. Gave it magic," He leveled an angry look her way. "You saved my life before, messing around with them so I didn't say anything, but Seith magic doesn't make allowances for this kinda thing. If I tell them to do something they need to do it. They're _dark souls,_ they aren't toys no matter how much they look it," He argued. "They're bound to me, and I keep them under control. They are _not_ your friends, do you understand?"

"I don't quite know what your problem is. They _aren_ _'t_ evil, Bickslow. I know them well enough to know that at least," His anger was beginning to affect her, through the heavy handed grip on her arm.

"You don't know _anything,"_ He ground out.

It occurred to everyone there, everyone but Bickslow, that he was still holding her despite the fact that she was pulling against his grip. His fingers held the limb tightly. Enough to whiten the skin around his hand. Hard enough that it was sure to bruise.

"I understand," She said, her voice even. "Now _let go_ before _I do_ ," She snarled, dangerously.

 _"Bix!"_ Laxus called out from across the fire.

Looking down Bickslow saw just what he was doing and released her like she'd burned him. She held up her arm to examine the reddening marks. Already, portions were purpling, angry bruises in the making. The woman hummed a quiet note to herself and the marks were gone in moments, when she looked up to him the smiles and the laughter were gone and she'd withdrawn again. Alma shrugged the blanket off her shoulders and straightened the armour she was still wearing.

"I didn't think it would cause a problem. It won't happen again," She declared, standing up. "I need to take a leak," How casually she was able to simply announce something like that would have shocked Laxus and Natsu were the circumstances different, but they sat quietly while she brushed herself off; as though the previous event had never taken place, before disappearing off into the dark sands beyond the firelight. Pappa stared after her, its empty eyes following her movements in the darkness before the doll crumpled lifelessly back into the bag at Bickslow's unspoken commands. He'd barely even felt Pappa; when he was drawing power from her, he was just some distant white noise in Bickslow's head.

Something hard hit the Seith in the face and he turned to see an angry looking Natsu growling at him, one shoe missing, arms crossed. The other Dragon Slayer's expression no better.

"Way to be a dick!" Natsu rumbled unhappily.

"What the fuck are you playing at? She had those things for two days. And you want to throw a fit over it _now?"_ Laxus spat at him.

 _"Yeah,_ because clearly they've got problems taking my commands now," Bickslow had thought it would pass, a side effect of her connection to them. But Ali was a creature of feeling, and by its very nature her power was unstable. He honestly couldn't predict what that would do.

All he did know was that Pappa was acting out, acting odd, and if Bickow knew anything about dark magic, it was to be wary when unusual things started happening. It was unsettling to consider. Pappa wasn't bound to her, it was bound to _him._ He checked it over himself and there hadn't been anything of her power remaining to influence him, so that made its actions, its own; a willful rebellion.

"None of that was her fault. You practically died, and it wasn't us that saved you. So _what_ that your babies are feeling rebellious? Its _your_ job to control them," As far as Laxus could see, Bickslow control problems weren't Alma's problems.

"Practically? Exactly what does that mean?" Bickslow asked and Laxus looked to Natsu. It occurred to them they hadn't necessarily gone over the particulars of his attack and Laxus was clearly conflicted about telling him, perfectly happy never to talk about it again. He looked to Natsu for his input but he wasn't certain himself.

"Your call, man!" Natsu replied, shrugging.

"Technically dead," Laxus admitted. "Heart stopped, no pulse, no breath. And then you were alive...screaming fucking blue murder, but you were alive, Bix. If you gotta spend the rest of your fucking days getting your shit under control, bow down and kiss that woman's feet that you even have the chance," The words hit hard for more than a few reasons.

Bickslow pulled the cloth doll out of the satchel and examined it staring blankly into space.

" _Fucking hell_..." He whispered. "I got _dumped,"_ The words came tumbling out.

 _"Hey!_ You didn't get dumped. If she dumped you I'm sure you'd know it. You'd have a black eye or something."

Bickslow shook his head with a dry laugh at Natsu's comment. "Fuck sake, not _Ali!"_ Hopefully not yet anyway. He waved the cloth doll in the Dragon Slayer's face. _"Pappa!_ Little fucker."

"Man, I thought the kids picked sides in the _divorce,_ not the bit before." Laxus muttered, confusedly.

"I fucking _died,_ maybe just for a second, and he decided to pledge his allegiance to the Alma dictatorship. Of course she fixed me right up and here the little shit is, stuck in the middle," Bickslow wiped his face in despair, getting up and turning in the direction she walked off in. "I'll be back in a minute."

He wandered out into the desert. It was always beautiful at night. Hundreds of thousands of stars overhead, the glow of the city in front of them; what he could now see were enormous lacrima atop spires, glowing in the distance. Standing dentinal over a still bustling city.

"So, welcome to your own unique branch of Seith magic," He punctuated the words by throwing the cloth doll to her. She didn't need to look his way to snatch it out of the air.

Alma angled her body from his, evasively. Trying to avoid the sight of him.

"What's _that_ supposed to mean?" She grumbled. She was rightfully angry at him. If she was even half as angry as he was with himself, he was positive she'd just call it quits right now.

The doll sprung to life in her hands and Pappa flew into her face, arms outstretched in a hug that was never going to encompass anything; the doll just wound up spread eagle, plastered across her brow, straddling her nose.

She finally spun toward Bickslow. Her face amusingly impassive. Pappa still comically stuck to it.

"Is this meant to be some sort of joke? You shout at me. You patronize me," Her face was twisted in an angry sneer. "You lectured _me_ on dark souls. I don't know what I find more humiliating, that or the fact you all but publicly assaulted me," Her breath came out in furious billow of air.

"I didn't even realize I'd grabbed you. It won't happen again," He said sincerely. And he meant that. He'd panicked, the thought that she'd inadvertently made the same choice he had when he was young and he'd lost it. But the he was alive because of it and the damage had already been done, the choices made. Alma however was no child.

A soul pact was no light hearted endeavor and it _was_ Seith magic. And that's exactly why Pappa was now so fixated on her. It was doubtful she even realized any thing had happened when she'd linked directly with him.

The man watched her crack a small smile. "No apology this time?"

"I figured I'd just not do it again," He sat down in the sand beside her noticing she snorted, holding in one of those laughs of hers. "You might be right on the whole apology shit. What's the point in it, if you're just gonna repeat it?"

"Glad to see some things are rubbing off," She'd been running her fingers through the sand, weaving patterns in the surface absently before he'd arrived. He didn't recognize the symbols she'd drawn. When she caught him looking she carefully destroyed them with a boot, prying Pappa off her face, staring at the doll. "So why is your possessed toy attacking me?"

"Yeah, about that. Pappa seems to be a little confused right now...and I figure its probably best maybe you keep an eye on him. Seems to like you more than me at the minute," Bickslow leaned in and bumped his shoulder with hers.

"That's crap and you know it. You're a Seith, what does it matter whether he likes me," She mustn't have realized it but she was stroking the dolls head as it sat on her knee. "You give the commands. He obeys," It wasn't exactly as simple as all that, but she wasn't completely wrong.

"You know, I had this talent for reading people when I was little? If I concentrated they'd...sorta glow. Everyone had their unique shades, filled with these colours that would tell me things about them. If they were happy or sad, lying or telling the truth, all sorts of stuff a little kid really shouldn't be thinking about," The night sky wheeled overhead and at his side, Alma was quietly listening.

"Then one day I was in the market with my older brother and it was pretty busy and some asshole bumps into me, and poof just like that, I lose him in the crowd," He could remember that sudden burst of terror finding himself suddenly alone and surrounded by people. Too small to see anything other than a see of bodies.

"So I focus on trying to find him, find his particular colours," He scoffed. "I was a stupid little shit to think I could with so many people around. And then this man catches me by the arm and pulls me out of the crowd. Tells me to stay there, my brother will find me. Low and behold he did, freaking the fuck out, practically begged me not to tell our father," He wiped at his face. "Well a few weeks passed and I was in the market again and the same guy was there. He was a little weird...but he _seemed_ nice. I only talked to him for a little bit, mostly about magic and then I went home. He was there the next time I went into the market as well," From the growing look of pity on Alma's face he could tell she knew where this was going.

"The man was called Arlo Basta and I didn't know it at the time but he was a Seith from a fairly nasty, almost _exclusively_ Seith guild. He was their best recruiter. Picking children with suitable latent talents off the streets to bring them into the fold. I didn't really fit the bill, but the natural ability to see a soul was pretty rare. He showed me how to do a few things that seemed harmless enough. I used to get in trouble sneaking out of the house to go visit him and practice. And then one day he says he's going to be leaving town for a bit but he had a gift for me. It was just boom," Bickslow started. Remembering how he hid the book, sneaking it back home under his tunic. Arlo had to flee the city because his protections had failed and he'd been spotted. Bickslow hadn't known, but even his family were involved in the hunt for him and his guild.

"It was a book on Seith magic?" Alma asked. Bickslow was just a child at the time. With a natural talent that made him a good match. He hadn't known what he was doing or studying was illegal. That the practitioners were reviled as almost demonic. "They got you in just deep enough to convince you there was no exit," Ali wasn't naïve, and it was a standard tactic of dark guilds. They preyed on the young. On the vulnerable.

"Oh did they ever. But I was stupid, I ran home thinking they wouldn't find me. Didn't matter who my family were. They came for me in the middle of the night while I was sleeping, took me right out of my bed and walked me out of my own house like a doll. I didn't really fit the bill for your _average_ member, but they'd put a lot of time into grooming me and they weren't gonna give up quite that easily. No, they had a special job for me."

Pappa leapt up from Alma's lap and zoomed around Bickslow chanting 'job' over and over.

"Yeah, little guy, I know," He looked away from her. He wasn't sure he would be able to continue if he saw anything like pity in her eyes. "When I met these little shits they were being used by an entire guild of Seith mages. They were passed around like common tools. When Seith uses their magic for nefarious purposes it darkens their aura and the Boscan guard have people who pick that out. They'd use these souls like waste disposal for themselves. Dumping their shit on them. When I met them they were broken and angry. They'd been used for so much evil even their masters couldn't control what they'd become."

"And exactly what were they hoping a child would accomplish? You were a novice," She seemed genuinely affronted by the idea they would use a children for anything as dark as all that.

"They were going to take my soul. Use it to purify, offset the darkness of the rest. Add to the collection. They're a set, you see, bound together."

It dawned on her then, that that was probably a pattern for them. When the others grew too wild, too overcome with their masters evil, they would add an innocent soul into the mix. Dilute it. Teaching the child some entry level Seith magic ensured that not only would they be compatible, but that they'd add to the power of the rest.

"These are _children?"_ Horror was a natural human reaction. Ali wasn't a monster.

"They were at some point. Seith magic users. So long ago I doubt they remember much. They have very little sense of self anymore," There was a sadness in his voice but he stuttered his next words as a pair of arms wrapped around him.

"I think I understand," She whispered, holding him. "They succeeded, didn't they."

 _"Mostly._ I'd learned enough, gotten strong enough that I put up a fight, but I was a kid and while my family tore the guild apart to get me back it wasn't soon enough. Me and these guys weren't left with much choice but to keep practicing Seith magic after."

"Pappa is tied to me in the same way, now, isn't he..."

"You need a Seith to create a bond like that. But I keep forgetting that Pappa _was_ a Seith, and he has access to my magic," Bickslow snorted. "Like he's now got access to yours." He lay back in the cool sand and watched the sky.

"I think there's some sort of Seith curse that means all our relationships turn to big giant messes," He was almost physically pained by the knowledge his magic was now responsible for two relationship disasters. "We ever break up... man, that is gonna be one for the record books. Fuck, we could legitimately _die."_

He rumbled with laughter. Now permanently tied to a woman he'd been officially dating for less than a week. At this rate he should probably just propose and get it over with.

"Everything dying is actually the _only_ certainty in all our lives. The rest is up to us. And if it ever does come to a breakup, well, one of us tore a piece out of a god so I don't know about you, but I think we'll manage," She leaned down and pecked him on the cheek, before standing and turning back to the camp. "I consider us even," She remarked with a devious smile. Pappa was now sitting on her head holding pieces of hair like reigns. A sight so far beyond funny it bordered on ludicrous.

"Forgive me already? Thought you said apologies in Atla usually involve bleeding and prostration?" He joked.

"Yes, well, you're sitting in my pee so we'll count that as a tradition satisfied," Her answer silenced him immediately, though they both heard bellowing laughter back at camp.

Bickslow groaned loudly. A _pox_ on Dragon Slayers and their _stupid_ Dragon hearing.

* * *

Notes

Huge thanks Desna and Weezel474 for the awesome reviews.

Oh, I can't even imagine the kind of heat that would ground Airplanes. That is just absolutely mental. Ireland does NOT get that hot LOL


	12. Chapter 12

The city was so big that Bickslow wasn't sure there was a comparison he could draw to it. Like Crocus five times over; bubbling, _churning_ with people. As small as the border towns were, this city had sprawled out around the lacrima palace at it's center. The enormous crystals absorbing light and heat from the sun, converting it into power for the city. The lacrima absorbed so much that despite the bustling streets, the heat was more than manageable.

Instead of so many small scattered cities, Atla had one large one. One, gargantuan beast at its heart with only small towns littering the desert. The largest town outside of the capital was Karak, and that was barely the size of Magnolia. No wonder invaders had second thoughts about taking the country, there was no force in Earthland large enough to take this city whole. Definitely nothing in Desierto. But Atla mined some of the rarest quality Lacrima anywhere and while trade was lucrative with them, the mines were kept in the strict control of their King and his family. It was illegal for any private sector to own or operate a mine in Atla. The Kingdom kept the wealth, and in conjunction with the Order of the Eternal fire, the national religion, they kept the people impoverished, ignorant, compliant. But in the last number of years, things had changed somewhat. With so many native Atlan citizens leaving, the nobles sending their children abroad, the taxes closing local businesses, foreign trade had swooped in, cheaper labour, outsourced military; their own soldiers left after their mandatory service and as a result, the kingdom was now left to hire outside forces to guard the city. A fact that the natives despised.

What they reaped in taxes from the locals was spent encouraging foreign trade. The fourth biggest building in the capital was in fact the Boscan embassy. Their airships were able to traverse the desert and move goods in and out with ease and as a result, the King made sure the Boscan Ambassador had anything and everything the needed.

Atla was the wholesale provider of Lacrima for most of Bosco's neighbours, sold through Boscan hands. Bosco made a tidy sum from acting as middle men for the shipment and sale across the peninsula.

Bickslow believed that the city of Josta may have had the most reviled King to ever rule Atla.

Locals spat on his effigies in the squares during the day and drunks pissed on it at night. It was a crime punishable by death but there didn't look to be a single person that _cared._ It wasn't just Alma, Atlan people in general just had this strange relationship with death. Then again, was death the worst thing they had to worry about? For some living was all but _hellish._

"If we get into the Embassy, there's no guarantee that they'll let us wander in and out as we please. More than likely, they'll put us up for a while and ship us back to Fiore. So we find the Embassy, I'll take Alma with me inside, you guys find an inn nearby, we'll make sure there's an exit and you guys keep checking out here," Bickslow's voiced his plan expecting something more than the flat silence that greeted him.

"That's a _stupid_ idea!" Alma broke the silence, punctuating her words with a flick to his forehead. "For one, they have no idea how this city works, and I doubt they'd be able to even _find_ an inn, second, I'm _recognizable,"_ She glared. "And lastly, what makes you think I'll willingly cage myself in a palace while Jera could be out here?"

Laxus nodded.

"She's not wrong. Bickslow will need to go to the Embassy but Alma is gonna be needed out here. Natsu, you're with her. There's a lot of Fire priests floating around and you're not as conspicuous as us. So I'll go with Bickslow," He pulled out a set of lacrima communicators. I picked these up in the market last night. We can use them to stay in touch," Laxus leveled a heated look Natsu's way. "Don't _lose_ it!" He growled to him.

Bickslow scowled at Laxus but said nothing. In his head he was shouting a hundred half-assed arguments that really boiled down to the fact that what Laxus was suggesting would separate her from him, and that frightened the Seith mage. This was dangerous and while there was no one more suited to survival than Ali, the circumstances weren't great.

Under the table where they were gathered around their drinks, she gave his knee a reassuring squeeze. He knew it was the right call but he didn't have to like it.

"Don't worry, I'll make sure nothing happens to her!" Natsu announced with cheeky, toothy grin to the expressionless stares all round.

"Try to keep him from burning down the lower quarters and no sugar before bedtime," Laxus smiled to Alma, noting the way Natsu crossed his arms suddenly sullen.

"I'm not a kid you know. I _have_ a kid," He ground out, humourless, expression dark.

"Even more reason for a subtle approach here, Natsu. You want to be able to get home to them, don't you?"

The Fire Dragon Slayer threw his hands up in defeat.

 _"Fine!_ No burning, no _sugar!"_

They finished their drinks and stood to part ways. Bickslow took in the sight of her, standing there looking glum and hoped it wasn't going to be the last time he saw her. Pappa was seated on her shoulder, relatively sedate in comparison to their normal hyperactivity. Bickslow looked to the doll and beckoned him over.

"Look out for her," It wasn't a command, but he could tell that Pappa took it as serious as a holy decree.

"The first man that puts his hands on me, I'll turn him inside out and let his friends _watch,"_ Alma said with absolute conviction.

Bickslow felt Pappa's agreement. He could have been wrong, but it seemed like she'd actually meant that literally.

"Gods you are _terrifying,"_ He uttered to her with a laugh.

"And you're so sweet," She replied with a small kiss on his chin. "I'll see you again soon. Enjoy all those milk baths and try not to get _too_ soft in there." She mocked.

"Don't worry about me getting soft, I'm sure you'll be able to harden me up quick enough," Bickslow winked, reaching around to squeeze her behind and Natsu made a retching noise.

"And that's enough of that," Laxus grabbed Bickslow by the arm and started walking him in the direction of the Embassy. The Seith spared a glance backwards to see the pair of them standing in the street, following them with their eyes and then a man cut across his field of vision and they were gone.

"Did I tell you about that mission she did with me and Freed where she hog tied a bandit, sprayed him with women's perfume and dragged him on horseback through Vulcan country," Laxus was trying to cheer him up, Bickslow didn't think anything could right now, but the mental image conjured a brief smile. Enough of one to draw him out of complete misery.

"Can't say that I did, boss," Laxus clapped his friend on the back.

"Well, the guy probably would have got away with just a stint in jail but he decided he was going to get mouthy with her... and everyone in Fairy Tail knows, the only person allowed to get fresh with her is you. So naturally, this guy was in for it..."

Bickslow listened intently, the story cheering him up immensely. It made him realise that Ali and Natsu were probably going to be okay. It was Josta that should really be worried with the pair of them loose.

"So have you decided which one of your brothers' identities you're gonna steal and ultimately tarnish?" Laxus asked him with a laugh.

"Haven't really given it any thought. I figure inspiration will strike when the time comes," Bickslow smirked.

Laxus groaned.

"Oh joy!" He wiped his eyes. "Do us all a favour and try pick a _forgiving_ one," Laxus begged.

* * *

The inn was a special kind of dive, and both Natsu and Alma had stayed in their fair share of them, but this place really took the biscuit. Half of the rooms in it seemed to be permanently reserved by the adjoining brothel. The establishment didn't so much have employees as much as it did slaves. Most of the girls and women shuffled around, streams of ornate gold chains dangling from their almost non existent clothing. Bells on both feet. There was a far away look in their eyes; the older girls had long since given up on their homes. There weren't many Atlan at the inn, it was likely these practices survived only on the coin of visiting traders and hired goons.

Alma knew very well, that on those Boscan airships would be dozens if not hundreds just like them. It was part of the agreement between the countries; they didn't ask about the cargo. And while selling slaves in Bosco was illegal, owning one wasn't. Making it a haven for those looking to house their living wares, before arranging the sale elsewhere and then just transporting them out. Bosco closed the slave markets, but did little else to halt the practice.

They rented a cheap room, Natsu was surprised that the woman at the bar didn't look too closely, didn't ask any questions or make any lewd remarks. It would be easy to assume that a couple renting a room together would be up to something. Ali laughed at his naivety on the way to their room.

"Look around you, do you think all these girls clear tables in the bar?" She asked him as the truth dawned on him and he frowned.

"And you're okay staying here? In a brothel? A brothel filled with slaves?"

 _"No,_ I'm _not,_ but it's the closest to the Embassy," She said unhappily. "Don't kid yourself, before we leave this city I'm going to come here in the middle of the night and cut the owners throat," She whispered it to him with a smile, from a distance, it would have looked to be an innocuous joke but for the frown on Natsu's face.

"Really? You'd murder them in their sleep?" Natsu liked to look people in the eyes. Liked an honest fight. The idea of creeping room to room and killing someone unsettled him.

"You see the girl down there standing near the bar?" He glanced to the side over the first floor banisters, quickly catching a glance. A short girl reeking of smoke and booze and lilac stood beside a grubby looking man while he negotiated a price with an older well dressed, black and silver haired Boscan. The man was as tall as Laxus with traditional Boscan piercings, a clan tattoo on his neck and quite clearly an embassy official by the sigil on his tunic. While there were other Boscan's downstairs at the bar, he stood out as a high ranking individual. For a low class place like this he was _very_ noticeable. Natsu could just make out what they were saying, the older Boscan belittling her value while she stood there, head downcast, all in the hopes of a cheaper price. Not content with using her, but he was haggling to _buy_ her.

"I see her," Natsu said disparaging.

"She's probably about eleven or twelve. The red chain at her hip means she's only recently hit puberty. Still a virgin. The younger ones fetch a better price depending on where they're sold. Her owner is probably looking for a small _fortune_ to buy her. What he'll get for her first time with a man is probably more than every slave in here will earn for him tonight," Her voice was calm and she didn't miss a step on route to their room, although Natsu paused in his stride before continuing on after.

"This is really messed up. They deserve to be free, and they deserve some sort of justice," He intoned seriously.

"There _is_ no justice for a slave. No punishment that will ever tip the cosmic scales back into balance. Make the world right," She looked back down to the faces of the people downstairs. "The happiest dreams she'll have at night will be her master tripping and falling face first on a shit covered spike."

"You sound like you've experience on the subject," He cautiously prodded.

"I was a slave as many times as I was a slave owner," There wasn't an ounce of shame or hesitation in saying that.

"I'm _not_ a murderer, but there's no way in hell I'm leaving this place like it is," He muttered under his breath.

The room was small but the door was heavy and the lock was good enough that they'd hear someone trying to force it open. Alma rolled out a bed roll and lay out on the floor.

"You can take the bed," She offered Natsu slyly.

The Dragon Slayer bent down and took a sniff of the mattress and recoiled.

"Fuck _no!"_ He coughed. The stench of a thousand things he didn't want to mention left him gagging and Ali laughing at him.

"What? You thought I was on the floor for the good of my back?"

Natsu pushed the bed to the other side of the room, clearing more floor space. It was dusty, but definitely not as offensive as the bed. He rolled out his own mat and sat down cross legged. Already his hearing could pick out the sounds from their neighbours rooms. Loud enough that he knew he wouldn't be sleeping. Ali was laying flat but he knew she was wide awake even without looking at her.

On the bedside table, Pappa was staring at the door, transfixed; a motionless sentinel.

Alma heard the chatter from him, and if she let her mind drift, the chatter from the others Pappa was still linked to. A stretched connection to Bickslow. If she really put her mind to it, she could find him at the other end of that thread. That was a comfort she knew Natsu didn't have. Lucy and his son were a world away.

"You want my opinion?" Natsu was staring intently at her. Thoughtful, a rarely encouraging sign.

"Sure. Why not..." She said with a facetious air that Natsu missed.

"Okay. My super Dragon Slayer advice is to _stop_ blocking it all out all the time. How're you gonna attack if you're always on the defensive?"

She sat up swiftly on her elbows.

"I genuinely believe that that would actually kill me. You know I'm basically blind, right?" In the dim light it looked like she was pouting but Natsu knew it was just one of her patented frowns.

"I did _not_ know that," He said, contrite. "Wait, how blind are we talking here? Cause you seem to get around okay."

She reached out and put her hand on his knee; she could probably have done the without touch but she wouldn't risk too much with Dragon souls in the mix. Bickslow had seen it once but her power had grown since then. Enough that while she was wary of Dragon Slayers she wasn't quite as cautious. If healing Laxus had taught her anything it was that she was much stronger than she had been, and that if it was relatively noninvasive, she didn't need to anticipate Dragon backlash.

Her power _was_ growing, but as a result her sight was only getting worse. Or _better,_ depending on what question you were asking about it. Sometimes it seemed like she could see the fabric of reality itself and yet reading a signpost required so much focus it gave her a headache.

Natsu saw the world move and hum. Saw their neighbours energies colliding while they had sex next door. Colours and movement and noise. Enough to make him dizzy; his stomach started rolling in moments. Motion sickness on solid ground. Then he looked at her and saw what was impossible for her to see herself. Thousands of golden threads protruding from her, living moving tendrils surrounding her. One of them circled her hand and painlessly pierced his leg. He pulled back, breaking the connection and returning the world to normal.

"I promise to never give you anymore advice so long as I live, if you promise never to do that to me again," He groaned falling on his back.

"Understood _,"_ She replied with a smile. "We have a deal!"

She closed her eyes and let her breathing turn shallow, Natsu did the same, but neither of them could sleep. For similar reasons.

The Dragon Slayer sat up again and frowned.

"The Boscan man that was downstairs is creeping about the rooms. Seems to be looking for something?"

That grabbed Alma's attention. She bolted up grateful for at least something to do and saw the man in question doing just that. His dim, quiet energy moving room to room, pausing at the doors before checking inside when he didn't hear anything. He wasn't a magic user, but he was more difficult to read than the average man; harder than the average _mage._ He'd clearly had some sort of training. Either that or grown up in a house filled with mind readers. He was getting closer, though. She heaved a sigh.

"Do you want to, or should I?" Natsu offered.

"I'll get this one, you get the next," He wasn't worried in the least that there _would_ be a next.

She stood up and crept quietly across the floor taking position on the other side of the locked door, waiting for the right moment.

From the look of utter shock on his face, the Boscan man didn't expect the wood he'd been pressed up against to be ripped away, and hard hands pull him inside and shove him roughly toward Natsu. From the look of shock on Alma's face she also didn't expect to be hit hard in the stomach as she pulled him in, either.

The Boscan man caught himself mid-stumble and swung for the much shorter Natsu, but the Dragon Slayer weaved away from the blow and tripped him to the floor before putting a foot on his chest, scrutinizing him closely. It was the strangest thing, but Natsu could have sworn he looked a little bit familiar.

"Do I know you?" He asked and the man put his hands up in surrender, fingers wet with blood, giving him a quizzical glare.

"I'm genuinely incapable of answering your question. Exactly how, _precisely,_ would _I_ know if _you_ know _me?"_ He answered Natsu who leveled a dissatisfied frown his way.

"Okay, fair point. Although why a politician is creeping round a place like this is another thing entirely," Natsu looked down at the man's hands. "Who's blood is that?"

The Boscan looked toward the door where Ali was leaning against the wall hands pressed against her abdomen, keeping pressure around the ornate handled dagger lodged there and looking foul humoured. He was certainly quick if he caught her off guard.

"Oh, that would be _mine,"_ She growled out, pale and suddenly sweaty. Ali looked the Boscan square in the eye. "Did you dip this blade in _karva_ oil by any chance?"

She pulled the knife out in a single clean movement and a pain filled grunt, examining the hilt with something close to appreciation.

The man didn't answer her directly but he did seem moderately apologetic. Ali checked the slowly closing wound with a shaking hand. It wasn't healing the way it normally would. It was far slower and there was more blood. It was definitely dipped in something very much like it, if it wasn't karva.

"I swore I'd turn the first man to put their hands on me inside out and _I keep my promises!"_ She snarled, viciously snapping her teeth in his direction; the rest of her body had started losing coordination and strength. The karva root was a favorite of Boscan assassins. It had anti magic properties and could induce paralysis if introduced into the blood or ingested. Assassins frequently made a vapor from the oil. If inhaled it caused the muscles of the lungs to seize and the victim suffocated. The knife had gone in pretty deep, and Ali was racing to heal the worst of the injury before it suppressed her magic and she couldn't fix it at all. Poisons were something her body tolerated well but it was bleeding to death from a knife wound she was most concerned with at the moment.

"Move and I'll incinerate you," Natsu threatened him, raising a burning fist. The man nodded. They weren't locals and he wasn't dead yet despite inflicting the equivalent of a mortal wound on one, or what should have been, so he decided to comply without resistance.

Natsu caught Ali when she stumbled, her limbs had become completely useless by the time she started to move and she flopped against him almost lifelessly. Pappa came and sat on her shoulder while Natsu narrowed his eyes at the doll, lowering her to the ground and propping her against the wall. The look on her face sent chills up his spine. She was not going to be happy when she regained the use of her body and her magic. There was a strange expression pulling at her paralysed face.

"Whole lotta help you were," Natsu snarled to Pappa, the doll practically shaking with irritation. Looking between them all. Conflicted at _best._

The man on the floor stood and kept his hands up, backing away slowly and making himself as non threatening as he could. As non threatening as a giant man with bloody hands could be.

"A _Seith_ with healing magic?"

Natsu saw her eyes widen and twitch. He could quite literally _feel_ the rage seeping out of her and that was minus her magic. When _that_ started coming back, they would be in trouble.

"Not really _._ And when she gets the use of her hands and body back you're gonna wish she was something that straightforward, believe me, expect to be sexually violating spicy roots for the rest of your _life,"_ Natsu glared at him in complete seriousness.

The man straightened his clothes and winced at the blood on his hands. "Could I...perhaps use your bathroom? I think that might be the first time I've stabbed someone this decade and I'm not sure I like the feeling. The paralysis should be gone by tomorrow. The way she pulled me in I was aiming for a thigh. I expected someone taller. I apologise."

"Explain why you were skulking outside the door?"

"I was simply looking for my room," He said, straight faced. Natsu knew it wasn't true but the guy was an incredible liar. There was no tell to prove it. No change in heart rate.

"I'm not an idiot. The truth," Natsu demanded. "I can tie you up and leave you here alone with her. I can already tell you, you don't want that option," He smiled menacingly at the Boscan man.

"I was searching for someone," He admitted.

"The girl from downstairs? The one you were trying to buy?" The Dragon slayer guessed. Natsu's face grew stern as he remembered. The man was charming in the way that Boscan men often were. Unnaturally disarming. But anyone purchasing little girls in brothels, were not to be trusted.

 _"Yes._ As a favor to her father. She is Ales Valdratta, last living daughter of Gar Valdratta, who's currently residing in the Boscan Embassy. She was sold to pay his debt to the state. He has been a lifelong friend of my family. I was not prepared to allow his child be sold on like an animal," It was impossible to tell if the story was the truth.

"And you expect me to think a Boscan dignitary would be the one going out to find her?" Natsu was rightly suspicious. The man was no common lacky. There would be plenty of far more suitable people capable of finding and retrieving the girl.

"The situation is _delicate..._ I couldn't simply entrust this to anyone else," He began before there was an interruption; a sudden banging on the door. Natsu scented the air grimacing before grabbing the older man by the arm and shoving him against the wall beside Alma, out of sight. The Boscan looked down at the doll-like woman.

"Again, I extend my sincerest apologies," He muttered quietly. A growl was all he got in reply. The man wasn't used to the behavior. Boscan women were forward, but they were raised with common courtesy.

Natsu ran his hands through his hair, messing it up and shrugged off his shirt before opening the door.

Out in the hall there were three men in leather armour with their swords drawn.

"We're looking for an older Boscan man, well dressed. He was seen wandering around up here checking rooms. We need him to come with us," One of them announced. Natsu kept his face impassive.

"Don't know what to tell you, pal, but I'm not a well dressed Boscan, and unless this guy has tits, I haven't seen him," Natsu made a show of yawning. He locked eyes with them and shrugged. "Why the fuck should I care that some rich old fart got drunk and can't find his room?" The Dragon Slayer snarled, making himself appear more and more irritable. The men seemed to consider him closely. Natsu kept his eyes locked with theirs, hoping they didn't spot Alma's blood at his feet.

"We'll be up here checking. If you see or hear anything, come find us," He told Natsu and the Dragon Slayer snorted in response.

"Why the fuck would I do that? I'm going back to bed. Don't knock again," He growled at them, slamming the door behind him.

Natsu put his clothes back on and went to the window, checking outside, it was clear he'd done this before and at street level similarly dressed men were speaking to patrons entering and exiting the inn. There was a balcony outside their window they could take that would lead them close to the adjacent roof if they needed a quick exit, but Ali wasn't going to be going anywhere just yet.

"I'm gonna make a suggestion that the next time you embark on some sort of secret rescue mission that you maybe tone down the look a bit. You're too noticeable dressed like that."

"Truthfully, good advice I'll bear strongly in mind," The Boscan said somewhat sheepishly.

"I'm not saying I trust you..." Natsu started. "...but the only person who'd be able to back you up is currently plotting an _unpleasant_ future where you put your dick in vegetables."

"...telling...the truth _...turnips..."_ There was a little bit of drool that had dribbled down her chin as she whispered sinisterly, staring hatefully at the Boscan man. The words were forced out through sheer force of will. Her eyes narrowing.

"Does she mean she believes I'm telling the truth...or... wait a moment, _what_ was that about _turnips?"_ He looked at her confusedly, beseeching Natsu for more information. The Dragon Slayer took note of the fact that her body was starting to regain motion.

"You don't need to know, my unfortunate friend. We won't let her catch you," He turned and winked at a suddenly thrashing Alma. Letting her know he'd decided against facilitating her vendetta. Now somewhat satisfied the Boscan man wasn't an enemy, he needed to get him out of there.

"Here, put this on," He pulled one of Bickslow's shirts out of Alma's bag and offered it to the man who took it and carefully shed his own expensive tunic in exchange. She literally whined at that, losing the only article of clothing she'd retained and kept from Bickslow.

The tunic was a little tight, and the Seith mage was no small man but the Boscan managed to just about squeeze himself into it under her rage filled scrutiny. He no longer looked quite so out of place.

"Thank you! Next time I leave the embassy I'll make sure to wear my casual clothes," It clearly hadn't been something he'd considered. Normally the Embassy attire kept him safe on the streets. Atlan guards took great care to ensure the safety of the Ambassadors and officials from Bosco. It hadn't occurred to him that the same thing that would keep him secure outside would backfire behind closed doors.

"I will _make sure_... you _never_ achieve an erection, _ever again_ without the aid of mouldy vegetables," She growled at the Boscan man.

And then she smiled. A truly terrifying thing.

"I'm not aware of any magic that would give someone the power to... _how are you moving?_ " There was genuine worry on his face now. He glanced to Natsu. "Your _beast,_ because that is certainly no woman _, s_ eems to be overcoming the effects of _karva._ That should have kept her immobile for _hours,"_ He stared in horror. It was clear he wasn't convinced she was human.

Alma's smile made even Natsu uncomfortable. It was far too devious. The Dragon Slayer was almost expecting it when her body seemed to suddenly, and clumsily, lunge towards the Boscan, startling him enough that he backed himself up against the wall. Natsu grabbed her before she face planted. Her hands outstretched towards him but her legs still too rubbery to close the distance. Under normal circumstances she would have been able to reach him remotely, but her magic was still recovering and she needed physical contact if she wanted to do anything more invasive than threaten.

"You should be able to get onto the roof next door and climb down the back if you take the window. Take the cowl. The piercings probably aren't easy to remove, so cover up your head," The Dragon Slayer tossed the hood to him.

"I can't _leave_ yet!" The man affirmed. "I need to locate the girl."

Natsu heaved an exasperated breath.

"She isn't in any of the rooms up here or downstairs. I can smell it," The man seemed to be considering the likelihood Natsu was lying. He seemed vaguely out of his depth and so far Natsu hadn't done anything to indicate he was worthy of mistrust.

The Dragon Slayer was in the same position, and it wasn't often you had a Boscan politician going on rescue quests by himself. "Ali says you're telling the truth so I'm gonna let you go, I recommend you be out of here before she has full use of her legs. She runs freakishly fast."

"Wait, did you say _smell?"_

Natsu flashed a toothy, fang filled grin before something close to understanding passed over the man's suddenly older looking face.

He turned on his heel and left quickly out the window. "I am in your debt. _Thank you!_ " Before he clambered down out of sight.

"Well, _that_ happened," Natsu laughed when they were alone again. "You gonna be okay?" He asked Ali who was standing upright under her own power but was several shades of pale vomit and clutching the wall like a life raft.

 _"No._ I hate you and I need to throw up," She said, having finally made her feet work; Natsu helping guide her to the bathroom where the woman immediately started losing the contents of her stomach once the sink was in range.

"Boscan's do seem to love their poisons," Natsu said out loud while the sound of dry heaving drowned out almost everything else.

"You gave him Bickslow's shirt..." Ali seemed altogether disgruntled by that fact more than almost being accidentally killed.

"He's going to the same place Bickslow is. I figure Bickslow will probably get it back eventually."

Natsu picked up the man's tunic to examine it while Ali continued to be sick. It was expensive. He could tell just how much by the quality of the fabric and stitching. Natsu burst out laughing when he came across the clothing tag.

"The guys _name_ is stitched into this," He snorted.

 _"Great,_ I'll know who to ask for when I go looking for him. So, who is he?" She asked Natsu and he had second thoughts about tell her anything.

 _"_ Do you _like_ turnips _!?"_ She muttered under her breath, just loud enough for him to hear. The threat was simple enough.

 _"Fine,_ Arman Pradesh,'" Natsu rolled the name on his tongue. All sounding very familiar. Maybe he was famous? Lucy would probably know.

* * *

Notes

HUGE props to Desna for letting me incorporate a few things from her awesome stories. Love it sooooo much!

And an amazing thank you to everyone reviewing and following. bluenightingalee, CanaryOfBlack, Weezel474, Desna, kmmcm and all the guests!


	13. Chapter 13

They had only just made it through the front gates before they were stopped again at the Embassy. The Atlan guards outside allowed them to pass but the bureaucrats were an entirely different matter and caught both of them in the middle of the courtyard out front. Boscan armed guard blocking their way while two men in expensive garb questioned them.

Laxus's Boscan was more than pretty good; the Dragon Slayer made it a point to know the curses Bickslow sometimes threw his way and over the years had become proficient with the language.

However, Bickslow was speaking at a speed he just couldn't match, and with a twang he'd never heard before. It occurred to him the Seith was probably toning down his natural accent; making _sure_ Laxus understood him when he cursed at him. At the moment he was only able to pick out certain words and phrases, it was just enough to form a picture of the overall conversation. He'd visited a few Boscan Embassy's in his time but he'd never experienced the level of paranoid suspicion.

He could tell, just about from the words he was catching that they didn't believe Bickslow was who he claimed to be, and the man Bickslow was arguing with wasn't willing to even make contact with his family back home to verify it. Fair enough, Bickslow wasn't _necessarily_ who he claimed to be, but giving a brothers name didn't change the fact that his father was one of Bosco's most well known dignitaries.

But they'd reached an impasse, and that wasn't something that looked like they were going to be able to change any time soon with words.

They'd been standing without shade, directly in the sun for over forty minutes arguing their case with their unhappy hosts; the only men present currently taking shelter under an umbrella while the Fairy Tail mages genuinely baked. Laxus could feel his skin burning _underneath_ his clothes. The skin was tight and tender to the touch. He was a fair skinned blond and in this sun there was only so much magic infused sun screen could do. Bickslow was already beet red. And if he was burned, Laxus would probably need a healer to deal with the damage.

"I don't see why you can't just call my father or my brothers, or my _sisters_ and just fucking _ask them_? And what's with the security? Do you really expect us to start trouble in a Boscan Embassy in Josta?"

"We don't have to offer you any explanation," The Boscan clerk glared. "But for your _information,_ Ambassador Locke was assassinated five days ago. This Embassy is currently _closed_ to visitors," He rasped angrily. Bickslow shared a quick glance to Laxus, the Dragon Slayer also shocked. Something like this could be grounds for war.

"The Boscan flag is up, so there's an Ambassador in residence. Where's the new Ambassador?" Laxus asked. He realized he may have to pull the Fairy Tail grandson card.

"Unfortunately, he's right here, and wondering why his favorite son has been left to burn like some cheap cut of overdone _meat_ in this gods forsaken sun?" Bickslow almost didn't even recognize his own father dressed as he was; dusty shirt and dirty cloak,a cowl hiding most of his face. In much the same way his father paused, smiling when he saw his. The first time since he was a child that he'd seen Bickslow's true unmarked expression.

"Dad!" Bickslow couldn't believe it, embracing his father tightly, laughing. He could barely describe the feeling; it had been genuine years since he'd seen him and his old man hadn't changed at all.

"Laxus Dreyar!" He held out his hand and took Laxus's arm. "It seems you've filled out more than my son," He commented grinning like a madman. Genuinely delighted to have run into Bickslow like this.

"Might even fit my shirts if you wanted to change out of Bickslow's," Laxus joked, after a cursory glance at him; to Bickslow and his fathers wide eyed stare. Of course he could smell Natsu and Alma on the clothes Arman Pradesh was presently squeezed into. The Seith turned back to his father and tugged the collar of the black tunic, checking it. The label from his favorite store in Magnolia.

"Where'd you get my threads, pops?" He asked and his father chuckled.

"A pink haired Dragon Slayer gave it to me before directing me out of a brothel window," Laxus was staring at his hands. No doubt able to pick up the faint traces of blood that would need to be soaked out. "But we can talk more after we get you inside and attended to," Bickslow's father glared at the clerk who seemed to shrink back in on himself.

"He gave the name _Vander,"_ The clerk pleaded his case.

"No doubt trying to improve the boys reputation. I fear Vander could use it," He looked to his son. "I wager you confused them terribly considering your brother is inside no doubt working his way through the beds of our female staff," The Ambassador clapped Laxus on the back making the Dragon Slayer wince; the hand hitting burnt skin. "Enough. We need to see to you."

* * *

Laxus was burnt pretty badly. His skin had been raw and inflamed, beginning to blister when the healers got to him. The areas were so tight they had to cut the clothing off his back; even raising his hands above his head would have resulted in split skin.

Bickslow had faired marginally better, but not by much. His complexion was a little darker and while he wasn't at the blistering stage, he smarted something _fierce._

The healers were Atlan. They had far more experience dealing with burns and the old women clearly knew what they were doing because within an hour of being covered in cooling poultice and left to sit, Bickslow was feeling more like his usual self. Laxus on the other hand was going to be more work. Two hours after covering him and wrapping him, the women returned to quite literally peel him; pulling horrifying looking strips of skin off him, only to apply more and begin the process all over again.

When it came time to wash the paste off, Bickslow found himself sitting in a bath thinking heavily. If his father was wearing his shirt and had met Natsu, he'd probably met Alma as well. It was hard to imagine how that went, especially since they wouldn't have known each other. Alma wouldn't have been under any pressure to treat him with any modicum of respect. Certainly not what he would be expecting, granted his position.

It shocked Bickslow to see his father, but not as much as it did to know his younger brother was with him. When he'd seen Vander last he was seventeen and was trying to charm an on duty healer into a storage closet.

Vander had apparently snuck out before they'd arrived. Sneaky bastard that he was, having gone to gods knew where to do who knew what. Do _who,_ was definitely the better question. This wasn't Bosco. Sleeping around with the wrong women in Atla could get you castrated, and Bickslow knew that Vander wasn't the kind to visit a brothel if he had an itch to scratch.

Normally his father would never have brought him with him on a trip like this if he genuinely didn't have concerns over his own safety. Which left Bickslow begging the question as to what was really going on here. It should have been safer in Atla for a Boscan than in fucking Bosco. Yet here they were, one Ambassador assassinated and the new Ambassador bringing a walking death machine as protection. Bickslow knew Vander's reputation. The Boscan government often employed him off the books for some of their less than upfront, somewhat bloodier methods of negotiation.

Laxus was still wrapped like a mummy by the time dinner came around but Arman Pradesh was nothing if not a prudent planner and Bickslow found that a table had been brought up to their main room with three chairs, his father occupying one. Patiently waiting for them.

"I need to ask what would honestly entice you to this city, considering the circumstances you've chosen an incredibly troublesome time for sightseeing," Arman asked Bickslow. The man in question cringed. The truth was going to get him mocked mercilessly.

"Well, I was chasing _one_ woman, found her. Now we're chasing another," He said, it seemed to amuse his father greatly.

"I would very much like to say that surprises me, son, but it _really_ doesn't," He laughed. Bickslow and Vander were the two sons with the most investment in the female population. Arman Pradesh was half surprised that Bickslow had even bathed alone. He'd a knack for falling into bed with women.

"So you saw Natsu?" Laxus interrupted, guiding the conversation away from previous topics.

"Yes, your pink haired Dragon Slayer and his _friend,"_ Bickslow's father almost bit his tongue and Laxus made a face, a 'well that can't be good' kinda face to Bickslow. "He's rather resourceful. Comes off a bit of a fool, but he seems to handle situations well. All the Dragon Slayers seem to acquire some eccentricity or another, don't they!" He smirked at a worried Laxus.

"You had blood on your hands when you came in," The Dragon Slayer was openly concerned. "What the hell happened out there?"

"A duel with a _beast,"_ He laughed hoarsely at the joke. "Forgive me, she was probably another Fairy Tail mage...I may have to send an official explanation to your guild master for stabbing her."

Bickslow jumped from his chair, wide eyed.

"That was _Ali's_ blood?" Air was suddenly hard to take in. His father's jaw dropped at the levels of panic his son was suddenly expressing. Panic and _anger._ Arman Pradesh must have been getting old because it took him several seconds to piece everything together. The look on her face when the pink haired Dragon Slayer gave him Bickslow's shirt. The fact that she even _had_ his shirt.

"You _chased_ a woman here?" He was now realizing he'd called her a beast. "Oh, _son,"_ There was disappointment in his voice. "Violent. Rude. She threatened to make me sexually aroused by turnips..." Arman narrowed his eyes in incredulity.

"So you _stabbed_ her?" Bickslow was almost shouting.

"I stabbed her _first_ if you wish to get specific about it. But it was unintentional," His gaze was scrutinizing. "Exactly _who_ is this woman to you?" He asked and Bickslow's train of thought stalled. They'd just barely come to grips with the concept of feelings; was she his partner, girlfriend, _soulmate?_ He was a Seith mage but didn't believe in the term, however, there was certainly something that connected them that he couldn't explain.

"She's _important,"_ He rasped. It wasn't a common thing to argue with his father.

Arman Pradesh felt like he'd wandered into a minefield while Laxus looked suddenly torn. Conflicted about staying with them to seen how it played out, the literal show of the century, and giving them some privacy. The latter won out.

"I'm fucking exhausted, so I'll talk to you in the morning, Bix," He bowed. "Amabasdor Pradesh," He smiled apologetically before heading back to his room, leaving Bickslow and his father alone.

"There are a world of women you could bed,"

"I don't _want_ a world of women," Bickslow blurted out.

There was a moment of silence. Bickslow feeling awkward under his fathers examining stare.

"So _that_ important?" Arman mused. "Just for the record, I do _not_ approve of your choice in women," He muttered, taking a mouthful of steak from his and chewing thoughtfully. "But it really isn't my decision, and as I think of it, I'm not sure I _ever_ approved of any of your choices," Bickslow's father narrowed his eyes. "You've always been drawn to the problematic ones. The ones that were in love with another. The crazy ones. And that one woman who woke up one day, seemingly _surprised_ to discover she'd been dating a Seith mage for _years,"_ Bickslow felt small under his fathers perusal. "What makes this one different?"

Everything she'd done for him. Every time she'd suffered for his sake; almost died for him. It all hit him at once. How could he explain that all to his father? Was it even possible to put into words how different she actually was?

"It's not my fucking place to try and convince you she's worthy. She is. And I know she is," Bickslow argued. His father's frown answered him.

"Try not to be angry with me. It's my job to gauge these things carefully. I cannot simply accept every single woman you bed. You, your brothers _and_ sisters, between you, have slept with far too many of them for me to care _or_ remember," Arman did have a point but Bickslow bristled at his words.

"Technically I haven't 'bedded' her as you so _tactfully_ phrased it," Bickslow huffed, irritated.

His father choked on the next mouthful of food before knocking back a full glass of wine to wash it down fully.

"I find that almost impossible to believe," Arman admitted.

"Yeah, well, apparently sex with an empath is tricky; makes Alma's _sensitive,_ and not always in the good way," He wiped at his face, tired and frustrated. "I'm beginning to feel bad about letting her promise to turn anyone who accosts her inside out. She's pretty literal," He remarked with a more chipper grin. When he looked back up at his father, he was frowning deeply.

 _"Alma?_ As in _, the_ most wanted woman in Atla is _dating_ my son? As in 'Alma, the _man slayer_?'" Arman had only heard Laxus and his son refer to her as Ali. Never once making the connection. Ask the Atlan guard at the gate about her and they'd tell you she was a ten foot tall psychopath who ate men's testicles raw.

Bickslow winced. Of all the nicknames she could have earned.

"In fairness, they're probably confusing her with Jera," Bickslow spat out under his breath, but loss of hearing was not something his father suffered with.

"Well, that remains to be seen, since they executed Jera Ferod, her father Eli and the other rebellion leaders in the square two nights ago," Bickslow's mouth fell open, his expression disbelieving. "Their charred bodies are still tied to the stakes in the central marketplace, if you wish to go take a look," The Ambassador said quietly.

Bickslow didn't know what to say to that. He really didn't. He hadn't known her as well as Ali, but he knew her well enough to know she hadn't deserved that. The entire country was _fucked._ The people were rightfully angry. Revolts happened when kingdoms trampled on their subjects. Maybe someone should dethrone the King instead of burning the people. The thought crossed Bickslow's mind before the panic kicked in.

"I need to find Ali. She can't find her like that," There was that racing in his chest again. His heart speeding away, disrespectful of his need to breathe. If she found Jera in the marketplace, who knew what she'd do. He stood up and away from the table, hesitating on a direction to choose. Should he wake Laxus first, get dressed, bother packing. "She needs to get out of the city," He said.

His father held up his hand in a calming motion. Looking sympathetic. Pulling out a small communication Lacrima.

"Vander!" He announced into the device. Silence still greeted him several seconds after. Long enough for Bickslow's father's expression to darken. _"Vander!_ So help me, son, if you do not answer me, you will truly regret it," He practically snarled into the lacrima in exasperation.

 _"What's up, dad?"_ A sleepy voice rumbled a moment later. A feminine sounding whine sounded in the background. _"Bit busy here,"_ The voice explained.

"You can be busy _elsewhere._ Bickslow is here at the embassy with me and is searching for a woman currently in the city. We need you to locate her and convince her to come here," His father made it sound like an order.

"Convince her?" The voice laughed at them. "I suppose I _can_ be convincing."

Bickslow grunted, irritated already by his younger brother.

"For fuck sake, _talk to her_ , and whatever you do, don't piss her off and _don't touch her,"_ Bickslow demanded, loudly enough that his brother could hear him through the lacrima.

" _Didn't know you for the possessive type, bro,_ " His brother chuckled from the other end of the line.

 _"Van,_ she had Laxus sleep walking and masterbating on street posts for two months cause he called her a skirt whisperer. If you insult her or touch her without permission, she will make you pay for it," He said and there was a silence on the other end of the phone while Vander considered that. A strange look crossed his fathers face that he missed.

" _Okay, you've piqued my interest. What does this woman look like?"_

"Not very tall, wearing leather, Atlan nose ring, short hair, looks like she could rip a grown man in half with her bare hands and will most likely be frowning," Bickslow added. "Oh, and she's travelling with another guildmate of mine, pink haired Dragon Slayer, Natsu."

 _"She carrying two swords by any chance?"_ Vander asked curiously. "Cause I'm over a tanning store in the marketplace and I'm looking at a woman pulling down this week's human kebabs," He announced.

 _"Yeah, that's her._ " Bickslow's stomach dropped, sinking like a stone.

From the other end of the lacrima there were sudden screams and shouts. Arman Pradesh almost dropped the lacrima with the shock of the spontaneous uproar in the background. There was something more than pain in the noises; squealing, tortured sounds he couldn't compare to anything he'd ever heard

 _"I'm gonna have'ta call you guys back,_ " Vander drawled before the communication ended.

"What the fuck is going on?" Bickslow asked. Wondering if his brother was in some sort of trouble. If Alma had _caused_ some sort of trouble. It certainly wouldn't be the first time.

But it wasn't just him. From the common area of the guests quarters they heard it out on the street. Screaming. Shouting. Bickslow and his father moved swiftly to the balcony and watched in horror filled fascination as throngs of people ran down the street away from the direction of the market; maybe a hundred feet away from the Embassy. Bickslow felt a tiny tug on his magic as Pappa's soul was return to him to join the others. That alone _terrified_ him.

And then he saw them, people on the street attacking each other, their eyes wild and bloody as they quite literally started tearing each other apart. A raging woman pulled a child from another's arms and Bickslow looked away, unable to watch the rest, he heard his father quite literally gag and that was enough to tell him he didn't need to see.

The Atlan guards at the gate did nothing to help those people, they kept their posts despite the horrors happening only feet from them. Only moving to cut down an assailant if they happened to move too close to the entrance; seemingly unfeeling sentinels. The slaughter reddening the streets didn't seem to affect him in any way.

And then just like that, the people running about murdering each other just stopped, toppling to the ground. Unmoving. Just like puppets that had had their strings cut.

It was a brief spell of _absolute_ madness. At this point Laxus was awake and dressed and emerging from his room, skin still wrapped and expression dark. They'd seen this before, back at the underground fortress, though something had stopped _these_ people in their tracks.

Down in the courtyard they watched Vander and Natsu race passed all the questioning stares and faces, Natsu carrying Ali on one shoulder. Bickslow didn't wait for any prompting before bolting from the room toward the stairs, his father and Laxus on his heels.

Down in the lobby Natsu had set her down on the stone while Vander batted people away. There were so many questions he couldn't answer and the youngest Pradesh wasn't willing to bother trying.

"Fetch the healer!" Arman barked at one of the attendants. The man standing there, lost amid the carnage he'd witnessed just outside. "Get her to your room and we'll take a look," He said softly to Bickslow.

"What the hell happened down there?" Bickslow asked Natsu as he carried her up the stairs.

"You know that little glass potion bottle that caused all that mayhem before? Well some douche in robes broke a whole fucking keg of the stuff in the middle of the crowd. Stuff vaporized like before and everything went to shit," He'd watched the wind carry it through the crowd, infecting one after the other; the people screaming and clutching at their heads before turning to their neighbours, trying to kill them.

Bickslow watched blood seep from under Ali's eyelids and flinched to find those same chilling red eyes underneath when he pulled back to check.

"How the fuck would this have affected her? She's better at dealing with this stuff than I am," He couldn't understand it.

"Bro, she _sang,_ I mean, _no one_ can sing like that, and suddenly all the lunatics were dropping like flies." Vander said. Unsure himself how that was all connected but Natsu and Bickslow didn't seemed surprised.

"She sang and took the stuff right out of the air," Natsu explained further. "There was enough to turn everyone for miles, this Embassy too, and she stopped it in its tracks," Natsu was beyond grateful he hadn't had to witness any more than he already had.

"How many?" Arman asked his youngest son.

"About a hundred infected, three or four times that dead," Vander answered flatly. He'd witnessed a lot of dark magic in his time, but this took an unholy piss on most of everything else. In just minutes a busy market was a battlefield of unlikely bodies. It was utter carnage.

Bickslow could feel her skin heating up under his hands while he scanned her with his magic.

"She's keeping everyone sedated. Don't ask me how. Don't ask me how long she'll be able to keep it up," Bickslow started removing her armour, looking to his father. "Tell me someone in this building is an ice make wizard. We're gonna need to get her temperature down and cold water isn't gonna cut it," He watched her closely with his magic. Saw her expend evey ounce of herself keeping the infected immobile. If breathing weren't automatic she'd have probably stopped that too.

"I'll have them search," His father said stiffly. "I need to make sure they don't simply start killing the afflicted," Were his words before leaving.

"Vander, I need you to help me with this," Bickslow was trying and failing to hold her and undo the straps on the last pieces of armour. He'd have asked Natsu to come back to help but he genuinely ran too hot.

"Stripping down a woman together...fucking kinky..." Vander trailed off at the green flash in his brothers eyes. His magic was something Bickslow kept almost obsessive control over. Vander had almost forgotten; he'd never remembered a time where his brother didn't carry the Seith brand. He couldn't recall a time when Bickslow wasn't absolutely in control of his magic.

"Just a _joke,_ bix. Hold her up," He asked, unfastening the straps on her back. The last part came away in a single piece that Vander put aside with an appreciative whistle. "That's some _nice_ leather."

"Erza made it for her so she'd stop scaring clients shitless with the bronze," The Seith laughed, before reaching out and straightening her nose ring. The bar sitting annoyingly crooked. Vander stared, frowning at the gesture. So casual and still intimate.

Bickslow's younger brother sat down at the end of the bed at her feet, flopping backwards and whining.

"Come _on,_ I can't be the only single brother left?"

Bickslow ignored him, checking her fever and frowning, she was only getting hotter as the minutes were progressing. As though her body was literally trying to burn the potion out; break down the magic inside her.

There was a knock on the door before a bald Boscan man was ushered in. From the off-white sash at his waist, Bickslow recognised the man as a healer.

He frowned checking her temperature.

"At this point of a fever her internal organs will begin failing," He spoke gently to Bickslow, trying to convey just how bad this was.

"She could heal most of it herself, but she's using it all keeping the people outside down for the count," Bickslow had no doubt she could recover, but she needed their help.

"Yes, Ambassador Pradesh is having those afflicted moved to the old barracks where they can be restrained if they awaken," He checked her heart rate. "In the meantime I will do what I can to keep her stable. I suggest you both go to the others and help move those people to the barracks," He looked Bickslow in the eye. "If she dies before they can all be contained, then others will die, too," His words fell heavily.

* * *

They'd moved them all in an hour while salt and sand was used to clean the sodden streets. The Kingdom guard had demanded those infected be burned but it was clear this potion could be made in large quantities, killing those suffering its effects would tell them nothing for when it inevitably happened again.

There had been survivors who could attest to what they'd seen in the marketplace. That this was no plague. This was dark magic. The worst kind.

There were now a team of three healers working in shifts and almost around the clock to keep Ali alive. Keep her fever down with magic. Keep her body working. Keep it doing whatever it was doing trying to combat the poison.

But they'd restrained her, too. It was a non-negotiable term with the kingdom guard. They weren't going to be taking any chances, not this close to the main Palace. Anyone effected was to be restrained in the empty barracks and chained. There were no exceptions. The most preferential treatment they managed to get for her was a private cell and a clean mattress.

No one, not a single healer in the city, could tell them anything about the potion. Not what it did. Not how it was made. To Bickslow's eyes it was pure madness. Condensed and undiluted. Made into a magic darker than anything he knew. Magic so dark even the woman from the well of Souls had difficulty coming to grasp with it, but she'd made an impressive attempt.

Atla wasn't a terribly forgiving place, but it's people were not without senses of gratitude. Outside the embassy those who survived, left gifts for their Boscan visitors. Food, wines and a varied assortment of goods and trinkets. Many where from those who survived the attack, some were from families still hoping they could cure the afflicted. They recognised the Boscan's were the only ones keeping the kingdoms sword at bay. They'd been the ones gathering the ill, offering help to the survivors.

But none of the healers couldn't cure it. They could do nothing but watch, and keep the people fed and comfortable.

Bickslow barely knew if he was awake or still sleeping when they came to tell him that some of the people infected by the potion were waking up, apparently spontaneously cured.

He was exhausted, doing what he could, doing the only thing he _could_ do for Ali; feeding magic into her, lending her his strength. He was half asleep and the words were incomprehensible; spoken fast in hurried Atlan while his foggy brain struggled to figure out what was going on.

"What? _?"_ Too many questions. He had far too many questions.

The healer looked to the woman in the bed beside him. Fever still raging.

"The Boscan healers now believe she's drawing it out of them. Like an open wound. It's why she burns," The Atlan healer from the barracks smiled at him. Bickslow had assumed the vast quantity of power she was expending was to keep them asleep. Contain them. She was doing a lot more that that apparently. Although it was _killing her_.

"You stupid, _stupid_ woman," He smiled before looking up to the healer. "How many has she woken up?" He asked.

"Five so far, but more are waking now, quicker than before," The man took a strip of twine from his wrist and wrapped it around hers, above the shackles keeping her affixed to the bed. Healers in Atla took vows of poverty. An idea that healing the sick and injured should be a pure calling, unburdened by the desire to accumulate wealth. The Atlan healers kept no possessions of value. This was a gesture to her. A gift from someone with nothing.

" _Thank you! We're grateful!_ " Bickslow offered the man his gratitude in Alma's place; his Atlan was good. Better than most Boscan's and he could see the surprise on the healers face that he'd answered him in his own tongue. He was learning far more about the people of Atla than he'd previously known.

The power he was giving her she was using to destroy the potion effecting them all, but it wasn't enough. Sit was clear to him that she needed more. He needed to get her more power. His was compatible, he knew that already but it wasn't going to be enough; it wasn't sustainable. He was getting weaker. Bickslow needed to find more magic for her. Capture it, convert it into something that wouldn't kill her, then feed it back.

"Can you fetch my brother and my friends? I'm also going to need a white lacrima," Bickslow asked the healer and the man nodded.

"Those crystals are rare. What size is required?"

"As big as you can get," Bickslow needed something capable of breaking down stored magic into its most basic form.

* * *

It didn't take long to get what Bickslow was looking for, although the white lacrima they brought him was so big it took four stout people to carry it. The white crystals he'd seen back in Fiore, even in Bosco were no bigger than a fist. This was absolutely enormous. Atla's reputation for lacrima was well earned.

The crystal was deposited at the foot of Ali's bed while Natsu, Laxus and Bickslow's very unhappy looking brother were gathered.

"I just need you to charge the lacrima. Then you get to leave," Bickslow tried to assuade them.

"Not your decision to make, Bix. And if you think I'm leaving you've another thing coming. I've no intention of leaving you to this!" Laxus seemed genuinely affronted by the offer to back out

"Speak for yourself, I have places to be," Vander was as charming as ever. Bickslow stuck his tongue out at him.

"Good thing its just your magic I'm after, dickhead," He snorted.

"We'll be here. What'dya need us to do?" Natsu asked.

Bickslow grinned.

"Put your hand on the lacrima. Give it as much as you can. Just pull away when you've had enough..." He was nervous. Alma was good at conducting power; moving it along those threads of hers, but he wasn't. With the power he knew this three had and would likely give the lacrima, it wasn't safe to be here. Especially if something went wrong, which he was willing to face, was a strong likelihood.

Laxus went first, and the reaction was instant; the man dropping to one knee almost as soon as he made contact with it. The white lacrima glowed brightly with streaks of yellow power before the colour faded back to white. Vander grinned, fully intent on remaining on his feet. As far as he was concerned this had just become a competition. But that idea dissipated as soon as he touched it and felt it pull from him. Not only did he not remain standing, the man passed out. He was a strong mage but Dragon Slayers had far larger magic reserves. Some would even say they had the largest. And while an incredibly powerful mage in his own right, Bickslow's brother felt the pull harder than they did.

Natsu went last and groaned pitifully when he touched it. He remained upright while in contact but as soon as he pulled away the world span and he was left staring at the ceiling which was spinning.

The crystal glowed ominously and Bickslow shook out his hands and rolled his shoulders while Laxus pulled himself back together. It was show time.

The trick with the white lacrima was to make contact with it without feeding it further. To be able to pull the magic out of it. Thankfully, part of Seith magic training was precisely this. With smaller lacrima, but the same principle. To be able to pull out a soul without being sucked in was one of the first things a Seith learned.

Laxus lifted Vander to his feet and kicked Natsu's legs. If they wanted to go now was the time. Vander glared at Bickslow, he hadn't quite known how big a deal the crystal was until he'd touched it. Now having seen it take the power of two Dragon Slayers and so much of his own, he genuinely worried for Bickslow's safety. He didn't leave, instead hanging by the door.

"You ready for this, bro?" Vander asked him uncertainly, as Bickslow took one of her hands.

 _"No._ I'm not, but fuck it," He laughed, touching the lacrima.

There was no pain. None that he was aware of. It was a strange sensation instead. Like pins and needles crawling along his skin before he wasn't in his body anymore and he was floating in an empty space, some place beyond the physical. He felt the power he was tapping into and Ali drawing on his own. When he connected the two he felt it; the dark magic that was causing this madness. But he also felt her pain. She was in agony. Constant, silent, lonely agony. Stretched beyond limits. The bodies in the market place. It had _broken_ her _._ The rebellion leaders were dead. _Jera_ was dead. The real pain she felt was _grief._

As he let the power flow into her, the madness she'd devoured touched him and he felt the urge to withdraw suddenly grip him. It was heinous screaming. Tortured, agonizing, howling. The rage and pain and fear of a thousand deaths. The feel of burning flesh lingering in his mind.

The fire priests; these were the dying moments of their sacrifices. Their last moments of agony and anger condensed down into a potion to drive the populous mad. It was _them,_ it had to be. Their sacrifices were at the heart of this magic. And Bickslow knew they'd sent more to their deaths lately than ever before.

With the access to new power came an immediate retaliation. He was aware as she forcefully _dragged_ the dark magic from all the souls she was connected with. Greedily. With a hunger that legitimately startled him. Driven by an almost primal urge to destroy it. She _consumed_ it.

The more people she freed from its power, the stronger she became. Her grief turning to righteous anger and pushing her harder. He hoped she felt some of the comfort he wanted to express to her, but it was impossible to tell just what she was aware of.

He'd drained the lacrima completely when he stopped and let himself fall back to his body. Laxus was there to catch him before he hit the ground. He opened his mouth to speak, dizzy and disoriented, but his voice wouldn't work. Trying to form words was pain. He tasted blood on his lips.

"What's.. wrong with...?"

When he brought his hands up to his throat they were shaking. There was blood on his cheeks. He'd been crying it like the others.

"You were screaming, Bix," Laxus helped him and Vander grabbed his other arm, looking white as a sheet; pale and sweaty.

"You were screaming a fucking _lot,"_ He told him _._

Bickslow couldn't remember any pain. Or even discomfort. He looked at Ali and she was still motionless, still sleeping.

"Her eyes...check her eyes," He begged and Vander pried open her lids.

"Looks normal," He said.

 _"Great."_

The world spun and Bickslow knew he must have lost consciousness at that point. When he came around again he was back in the Embassy, upstairs in his own room; Ali had been placed beside him. Bathed and wearing a Boscan style nightdress. It was practically see through. That definitely wouldn't be appreciated when she woke up. He checked her temperature and her eyes, just to be sure and let out relieved chuckle.

He pulled her close and held her tightly, more for his own sanity than hers. She barely stirred; her aura was dim and he could tell she was having nightmares. He felt something cold touch his chest and looked down to see that she was crying in her sleep, but they were regular tears. He wiped them away and kissed her on the temple.

There was a knock on the door but Bickslow wasn't interested in moving. He doubted Alma would be waking up any time soon.

"Come in," His throat felt like he'd been gargling broken glass and it sounded worse.

When the door opened it was his father carrying a tray.

"It's rare that an Embassy would be in such turmoil they'd allow me anywhere _near_ their kitchen, so I decided to bring you breakfast before the chef finds out what I did with his whisk," He sat at the foot of the bed and set down the tray. "Such that it is. I fear I'm a little out of practice."

Bickslow released her carefully and rolled his arm out from underneath her. Knowing now she probably wasn't going to be woken up by the movements or their conversation.

"Thanks, dad!" He rasped. His father winced to hear him speak.

"The healers are still tending to those in the barracks," Arman cautiously explained. Bickslow voice was barely there. It made him unhappy to see him injured, even with such a minor wound. "Many are still very distressed and have had to be sedated. It... seems they remember most of what occurred."

The Seith felt something move through him, some strange power and there was a brief moment of panic before he felt Ali's fingers tug at his tunic and the pain in his throat vanish.

"Give me a few minutes," He tried to swing his legs out of the bed. "I can probably help with the memories," Bickslow offered but his father shoved him back down to the bed, rather forcefully at that. Confused at the sudden recovery of his voice.

"You do _not_ have my permission to so much as take a _step_ out of this bed," The man seemed to have aged years in a day. "I know my children are all involved in dangerous work, but that doesn't make it any easier to see. And do not think I'm not _furious_ that you sent for your brother, and _not_ your father," Arman Pradesh bit out gruffly. Any other Boscan man would have taken it as a sign of great disrespect, but he knew Bickslow would have simply wanted him safe. Bickslow didn't know it, but his screams were heard all the way out on the street. A small part ofnhim was grateful he hadn't been there to witness it.

He'd been told it had barely sounded human.

"How are you feeling?" He finally voiced the question he'd been dancing around.

"Tired. Angry as all fucking hell. Its made from the sacrifices. All those executions. Everyone they've burned," His voice was shaking.

The knowledge complicated matters greatly.

"You're _sure?"_

 _"Yes, I'm sure!"_ Bickslow found himself almost snarling in anger. He gripped his head, painfully. "Shit, can you grab me my bag over there?" He pointed to the chair several feet away, which his father retrieved for him.

Bickslow withdrew the anti magic links he had from the bag and carefully set them on Ali's wrists. He father watching him in curious silence. The atmosphere of the room seemed to suddenly break. A tension they hadn't known was present evaporated like mist and Bickslow breathed a sigh in relief.

"These need to stay on," He looked at his father seriously. "She's normally like a big giant sponge, but it works both ways. And you do not want to experience what's going on in there right now," She was processing it all; still digesting. All that pain and rage and death. It didn't scare him to know, but he _did_ know; Alma was going to be sleeping for a good long time. It would be days, it could possibly be weeks before she woke up; dealing with the events in her own way and coming to terms with it all. He was beginning to believe the deep sleeping, even the nightmares were a part of her process. A way to rid herself of the things she took in.

"Will my future daughter in-law recover?" Bickslow's father asked with a tight grin.

 _"Hey,_ let's not go nuts here," He gave him a fixed glare. Bickslow's father was joking of course, but he was a man that liked to tease his children. "She'll sleep it off, but...that's gonna be a while," Bickslow now noticed the pancakes, plucking one from the stack and taking a bite.

" _Chocolate pancakes_..." He almost started drooling. He hadn't tasted his father cooking in so long it almost made him weep eating them.

"I have a favour to ask," His father asked while Bickslow's mouth was full, warm chocolate oozing at the corner of his lips. Choosing the moment of vulnerability to pose his question.

"Dad, that's fucking crafty, even for you," Bickslow murmured reaching for more and washing it down with milk. It was heaven. He glared at his father dubiously.

"Oh, don't give me that look," Arman smiled brightly. "It's nothing terrible. Your friend Laxus has been telling me about my future daughter and considering my first meeting with her involved me stabbing her, I feel a second introduction might need to be _carefully_ negotiated."

Bickslow knew more than likely she'd made some crazy threats after he stabbed her, threats Laxus probably somewhat backed up.

"You're really pushing this 'daughter in-law' thing now aren't you. Not promised. Not engaged. We've been dating for maybe two weeks if you want to get specific. Even less if you want to be technical," He looked at her drooling, sleeping face. "It's too soon to even _joke_ about shit like that," Bickslow laughed, eyebrow raised.

"A father should be allowed to hold out hope that his children will settle down some day," He reached out and patted Bickslow's cheek. "Your brother said to let him know when you woke up. Expect a visit," He glanced at the sleeping woman in the bed. Saw his father scan over the visible scars. The bulk of which she normally covered. "Vander could probably benefit from a week or two of performance issues, should your other half wake up between then and now," He smirked deviously.

Bickslow fell backwards onto the pillow laughing. Vander...he'd flirt with any woman breathing. She'd cut him down like wheat. That might be worth watching.

"I'll just let nature take its course, dad."

"Should I send up the healers when they're free?" His father asked. "You're sounding better?"

Bickslow patted Ali on the head.

"Nah, my sleeping _beasty_ has it covered."

It was a nice moment of levity and Bickslow knew the coming days would be rough. Kingdom in turmoil, national religion the main suspects in an epidemic of mass murders. Where the flying fuck was the King in all this?

* * *

Notes

I know! Really long chapter. There's a lot of questions. I'm gonna start answering them soon. Again! Huge thanks to Desna for using some of her characters for this! The wonderful Arman Pradesh and Vander. (You rock!)

Also, if you like The Walled Garden, bluenightingalee on tumblr is presently sketching some of those scenes. Would completely recommend you give them a look. They are so unbelievable, and they aren't even finished yet!

If you like it, let me know. I love you all; all the reviewers followers and favorites!


	14. Chapter 14

Notes

Just popping in the note at the start of this chapter. If you aren't aware, pretty much everything I write will have adult content. Cursing. Strong themes. In this case, this chapter contains cursing _and_ smut. Yes, it is the smutty chapter.

I love all my reviewers. I really do. You guys are awesome. And again I need to send love Desna's way for letting me use some of her characters.

Also remember bluenightingalee on tumblr is drawing up some manga style pages for The Walled Garden. I've seen the unfinished stuff and I actually cried. I kid you not. They're well worth a follow if you're on tumblr.

* * *

"She looks like she'd _break_ me if she got me into bed..." Bickslow's brother whistled in a way that made him scowl unhappily. She was more than something to be used, regardless of how much she'd enjoy the time.

His brother speaking about her like she was a thing to be fucked and thrown away after, left him grinding his teeth. He'd never realized how hideously vulgar the behavior actually was until a woman he cared about was the target of it.

He could tell Vander was purposefully trying to aggravate him, knowing their father had confined him to the room until further notice and as much as it bothered him, Bickslow's magic was still too low do do what he currently wanted to do; namely make his brother punch himself repeatedly in the face. A regular person maybe, but a mage with that much magic would be a stretch.

"Oh, but that's _right,_ you wouldn't even _know,"_ He laughed teasingly. "I may even get a chance. Maybe she'll want to sample more of the Pradesh family wares before she settles? Those legs look like they could crush _skulls."_

Bickslow was trying to tune it out; trying to navigate away from responding. A thought crossed his mind that she probably could crush skulls and he had to stop himself from laughing at the idea that he'd ask her to do just that.

This was his third day of forced bed rest and while he genuinely enjoyed sleeping in, not having the option to go out and train, or get some exercise, the Seith was fast losing his mind. He'd overdone it, he knew he had, it was a miracle either of them had even survived, but the repercussions of that meant his magic was going to be slow to crawl back.

As stressful as his days were, his dreams were blood soaked nightmares; the underground fortress, a screaming marketplace; it was an incredible horror to live with and the most he could do for his own sanity was try and pretend it hadn't happened. He wasn't ready to face it.

Maybe his father was worried about his mental state, and that's why Vander had barely left his side for three days. He sensed there was more to it than his brother being simply bored. The Embassy was still mostly on lock down but Vander dealt in shadow and there were very few barriers he couldn't cross; if he wanted to leave, he could leave. The only thing to keep him there were their fathers orders; they took those as gospel. Which begged the question as to why his father would want Vander guarding them; that he could only speculate. Between him and Ali they'd managed to counteract the potion, maybe there was a concern that whoever was involved might make an attempt on their lives while they were recovering? It clearly meant that the magic, as dark as it was, wasn't foolproof. It _could_ be beaten.

While Natsu and Laxus came up to visit him frequently they hadn't been there today and Vander was being an especially annoying little shit. More so than usual.

Bickslow got out of bed and headed for the bathroom while Vander sat on the sofa at the foot of the bed playing with a dagger he'd conjured out of shadow. Changing its shape and size midair as he tossed it and caught it repeatedly; the motion was as maddening as a ticking clock to Bickslow, possibly why Vander felt _compelled_ to continue to do it.

Vander absently noted that his brother watched over the mystery woman in the bed with an almost obsessive eye. He checked her temperature every hour. Refused to let anyone else touch her for reasons he hadn't fully explained. He cleaned her down with exaggerated care.

Whether the Seith was aware or not, Vander was irritating him on purpose; stoking the Seith's anger in the hopes it would help his magic return faster. Emotion was always the real key to magic, and anger would also stop him dwelling on the events at the market. Keep him from falling into melancholy. Sitting in the shadows at night, he'd seen Bickslow toss and turn only to cry out while he slept, sweaty and panicked. Laxus had told him he'd already died once on their little escapade, and while he wouldn't admit it, Vander loved and looked up to his older brother. If he had to sit by his beside annoying him till the end of all time he would, if it meant sparing him the opportunity to relive that kind of horror.

It wasn't as easy as it seemed to aggravate him, though; his brother played the part of a frisky layabout but he took care when it came to that persona, cultivating it with consideration; his family knew him enough to know how seriously he took his magic; his job. Losing control wasn't in his nature.

Vander knew his brother, just like he knew the key to him was laying in the bed, sleeping away the days. She was his new sore spot. Replacing the last tender area which so happened to be the previous failed relationship. When his brother fell, he fell hard, but serious partners just seemed to end in heartache for him.

Vander had caught glimpses of some of the scars on her body, most were faint; you only really saw them if you were really looking closely, but so many were loud, hideous, disfiguring things. Very unattractive on a woman. Even one as obviously dangerous as she seemed. There was a scar on her throat, a long thin line from a blade where her throat had been slit. Not simply cut. No. A blade had been run skillfully from one side around to the other. It was hard to see, but only because there were so many visible ones distracting from it; thick marks on her back that stretched over her shoulders and licked her collar bones. Those were the marks of the Atlan steel tipped whips, and they _weren't_ for punishing. They were methods of _execution._

Those kinds of injuries should have been lethal. He wondered when he'd actually find out the truth about her. Natsu laughed at the question. Laxus went totally silent. Bickslow lied. He wagered it must have been good, whatever it was.

While his brother did who knew what in the bathroom, he took his time examining her more closely. Through the fabric on her torso he could make out a large star shaped scar. It sat right underneath the rib cage and it hadn't been caused by a blade. In fact it didn't look like any weapon he'd ever seen; more like she'd been skewered with something barbed. It made him shudder to think of the kind of thing that would have caused that. She shouldn't be alive. Not from any of it.

"Tell me your secrets, warrior woman," He chuckled, eyeing the anti magic cuff. Cutting off her magic was more than likely hindering her healing. After the first day watching them for his father, he'd become convinced that lack of access to her magic was keeping her asleep. There weren't any other injuries he could see.

Vander smirked deviously, looking back to the bathroom door to make sure Bickslow wasn't standing there about to throw something at him, before reaching over her and removing the cuffs.

"Rise and shine, scarella," He whispered.

There was a moment where he experienced the flip, from thinking this was a good idea to instantly knowing he'd just made a terrible, _terrible_ mistake. He felt the change in the air and a jolt like electricity charge painfully into his skin; anxiety hit him square in the gut while a bone deep fear gripped him. He still had her wrist between his fingers when he tried to put the cuff back on, but his hands had started shaking uncontrollably while she spoon fed him absolute terror. He fumbled and dropped the link onto the bed.

"Shit," he muttered under his breath. Knowing now why Bickslow kept the cuffs on her. It wasn't for _her_ benefit, Vander had been right in that, but it had been for everyone else's.

When he looked up, her eyes were open and she was staring at him, wide eyed and completely _,_ deathly furious. It wasn't lost on him that he was sitting over her in the bed restraining her and now trying to reattach anti-magic cuffs.

"I know that this might look bad..."

She shot forward in the bed and headbutted him square in the face.

* * *

Bickslow cleaned himself down and topped up the concealer on his face with Alma's borrowed concealments spray. He pulled a few faces in the mirror and shook his head laughing. It was difficult to get used to the sight of himself without the Seith brand. It had become almost as much a part of himself as the magic itself but it was nice not getting stares everywhere he went. If there were now new ways to conceal it, maybe there were also ways to remove it? Maybe someone, somewhere had developed the ability to undo what his homeland had done to him. The thought struck him that he might even be able to move back to Bosco under a different name, if he weren't branded like he was, but he shook his head clear of that. Fairy Tail had been him home for longer than anywhere. Even if he could go back to live out his days in Bosco, he probably wouldn't be able to tear himself from his friends back home.

While he scrutinized his new face, something out in the main room crashed; Bickslow picked out the sound of shattering vases and silently cursed his brother, thinking that the shit was probably using the contents of the room as target practice for his shadow blades. As good as he was up close. As powerful as his magic could be. The guy couldn't hit the back end of a two lane carriage with a thrown blade. Bickslow was the distance fighter in the family.

Pulling on some clean pants and a T-shirt Bickslow emerged only to nearly trip in shock to find his girlfriend, and his brother, grappling in the living room. She'd somehow managed to attach one of her own anti magic cuffs to him and while he currently had her in a headlock, she'd reached up and fisted her hand in his hair, getting a tight enough grip as to force his head painfully back, both of them fighting for an upper hand. Blood was pumping out of Vander's clearly broken nose.

"Ahhhh-HHHEM!" Bickslow announced loudly and two sets of eyes locked on his. Vander paused, hesitating, while Alma used the distraction to her advantage, releasing his hair to elbow him in hard in the nuts. Breaking away from him and breathing hard. Adrenaline fading as her body fought with itself over the urge to sleep and her need to keep fighting.

"Ali, meet my _brother,_ Vander," He waved his hand to the man with wavy black hair curled up on the ground clutching his balls. "Vander, meet my girlfriend, Alma ' _the slayer of men_ '," He punctuated the words so Ali knew they'd be having a serious discussion about her activities in Atla later on.

"You two aren't related by blood..." She said, obviously confused. It was a talent she had with energies. Biological families shared common patterns.

"None of us are. Dad adopted us all. Why the damn family is so ludicrously fucking big, " Bickslow smirked. "There's Pradesh's everywhere. Lift up a rock, oh look, found another one," Bickslow joked. She however looked to be having an internalized panic attack.

"Arman _Pradesh_? The one that _stabbed_ me?" Bickslow winced at the look of utter red faced embarrassment that slapped her pink when she recalled the meeting that now turned out to be with his _father._ "Your name...is Bickslow _Pradesh._ And I've broken your brother's nose. And your father stabbed and poisoned me," She was very pale. "Are there anymore family members I've been inadvertently involved in an altercation with?"

Bickslow shrugged. He really didn't know at this point. In a city of a few million people she'd managed to violently cross paths with his father already. His brother wasn't quite as unexpected. They had a lot in common when it came to annoying people.

While she stared off into space Vander swiped her feet out from under her and she landed heavily on her back, head cracking against the stone painfully. He knelt over her fist raised.

"Go ahead. You may as well end my suffering!" She whispered, staring blankly at the ceiling. What was it she'd told Bickslow about first meetings with his family? She was fairly sure she implied there would be use of self control and possible manners. Certainly not threats and broken faces.

"No fucking mercy killings today, got it?" Bickslow hauled his bloodied brother to his feet by the back of the shirt and offered a blood stained Alma a helping hand to hers, one she took gratefully. Her legs felt shaky as the burst of energy from finding a strange man pinning her to the bed, faded.

At that point the door opened to an unhappy Natsu balancing two trays of food while the Ambassador appeared behind him with what smelled blissfully like coffee in an enormous pot.

Everyone seemed to freeze before Alma and Vander pointed a finger at each other in a unison so perfect it couldn't have possibly been anything but rehearsed.

"He started it!"

"She started it!"

They said, pointing accusingly at each other.

"What the fuck do you mean, _I_ started it?" Ali sneered at him. "You fucking _pervert."_

 _"You broke my nose!"_ He wheezed. The appendage still in fact bleeding.

"Well, being woken up by men I don't know crawling over me results in injury," She growled at him. "You're lucky you still have your _fingers,"_ She snapped her jaws menacingly at him; like an animal.

Vander looked at Bickslow, apologetically.

"I was just taking the cuffs off...then realizing what a huge mistake that was, and subsequently putting them back _on,"_ He explained.

Bickslow had his face in his hands. It was going about as well as could be expected, given the circumstances.

"Wait, why am I wearing a _dress?"_ Ali was now noticing what she was clothed in and it was clear that the almost sheer little thigh length number wasn't leaving her in any way impressed.

Natsu set down the trays and turned to leave, patting the Ambassador on the arm as he went.

"I've seen how this goes. Good luck!"

"How _what_ goes?" Ambassador Pradesh muttered under his breath as Natsu disappeared. He felt like following the Dragon Slayer out the door and leaving them to it. This was just _ridiculous._ Was everyone here not an adult, too old to be acting like children?

Just as it looked like the fight was starting over again, a pair of arms lifted Ali off her feet, crushing her back against a warm chest.

"You really think the best way to get back at him is a bloody nose?" Bickslow whispered in her ear making her still. Her entire body relaxing into his grip.

 _"No._ No, I don't," She uttered with a calm breath and a soft knowing smile, sinking against him. His presence was a comfort she hadn't realized she'd missed after waking. But there it was. Urging her to think. To calm down. To _laugh._

He set her back down to the ground and planted a kiss on her temple. Vander caught the look she gave him and took off the cuff, disappearing into shadow. Deeply unnerved that as he left the room, invisible to everyone else, her eyes _still_ followed him and not a trace of magic detectable from her.

"How are you feeling?" Bickslow asked.

"Like something's been torn out of me," She said quietly. _"Burned_ out of me."

"Jera?" Bickslow asked.

"No...then again, she's not dead...and if she wasn't burned then neither was her father," She said.

"When did you come to this conclusion?" Bickslow asked. He'd felt her grief. Her shock. That had been real. In the market square she'd been broken by the sight. At that time she'd believed the corpse she'd freed from the stake was Jera.

"I was dreaming of the dead...but she wasn't there. The others were...but her and Eli weren't," She sounded more than a little mad. Bickslow exchanged a subtle look with his father who kept his expression neutral, but he saw the same thought in Arman's eyes.

 _"Okay,_ well, we'll keep ourselves open to the possibility," The Seith placated her. Refusing to give her anymore to hurt over. They were all dealing with this in their own way. If she wanted to hold out hope, then he wasn't going to take that from her.

The Ambassador sat down and poured himself some coffee. Savoring the smell but not actually drinking.

"I've made an official request to attend the palace; as a Boscan government official requesting an audience with the King, they won't deny it, they can't, but if there are forces in the King's court plotting with the priests, they may delay us," He seemed all too calm about it. "I'd recommend you get comfortable. The last Ambassador was left waiting two weeks for an audience before. Be under no illusion, we're treated well in this city, but the King is a law unto himself."

Bickslow's father looked tiredly at themstanding and leaving the coffee untouched. "You'll have to excuse me. I haven't slept in days and I've done what I can for the moment," He smirked. "Let the attendants know if you need anything. You've the option to eat here or down with the others. I'd recommend you enjoy the respite while it's available," He said, leaving them considering his words.

The Seith pulled Ali against him as soon as they were alone. There was a lot going on in her aura. A lot of things weighing on her mind.

"That magic, I've never felt anything like it before," He wanted her opinion, but considering the fragile state her mind seemed to be in, he chose his words cautiously.

"That's because it's mindless; whoever made it isn't after control. They want panic. They want fear. _Chaos,"_ She uttered. Bickslow had sensed as much himself.

"How did you take in that much _evil?"_ He asked and she laughed at him.

"That's _not_ evil," She assured him. "That's just violence. Pain and suffering. Rage. If there is an evil, it's in whoever made that potion. In the hearts of the ones that released it," She sighed. "Evil isn't this enormous force you fight. It's the quiet voice that tells you lives don't matter. To keep walking. Don't turn around. That it's for the _best._ To take what you won't be given and use power for personal benefit," She turned and looked him dead in the eye. "The only evil I know, is in here already," Her hand fell over her chest. "Pain...suffering? They're easy. I learned that a long time ago,"

He pulled her against him.

"There's no evil in you," He whispered, cupping her face.

"That's the lie we tell ourselves," Her expression was solemn. "There's evil in _all of us."_

Bickslow leaned in and kissed her tenderly, feeling her shudder against him, exhausted and trembling. He smiled against her lips, taking one of her hands in his and leading her to back into the bathroom.

"Fine, there's darkness in everyone, I'll deal, but you've had sponge baths for the better part of the week and you need a _bath,"_ He laughed, guiding her to the small pool. The water heated deep under ground and piped up; the mineral content too high to drink, this water's only purpose was for bathing.

"Are you accusing me of _smelling?"_ Her tone rose indignantly.

 _"Yes!"_ He smirked. "Like old rancid _cheese._ Now off with the clothes and into the water," He demanded.

"Gods you got pushy while I was sleeping," She joked, but it was easy to see that the idea of a hot bath wasn't something she was going to refuse. _"Fine,_ just no dresses. Find me a clean tunic or something?"

"If it'll get you into that bath, _sure!"_

He'd never seen her completely naked before and it was difficult not to reach out and pull her to him, lose himself with her. The link between them was calmer than the last time they'd shared any kind of intimacy. It was more reserved now. She was learning to control it, he knew. Choose what she broadcast and didn't.

She sat in the water and groaned. Muscles she hadn't known were aching, cried out in relief. Her eyes closed and when they opened Bickslow was already sinking into the water opposite her holding a sponge in one hand and a bar of soap in the other. When he was with her he didn't need to think about the horrors out there. The Seith wanted to think about anything else for the moment.

He lathered up the sponge and set the soap aside reaching under the water and catching one of her feet, pulling it free.

 _"What_ are you doing?" She raised an eyebrow.

"Normally there'd be people to do this for us, but you seem to have this problem with strangers touching you," He cracked a grin. The corner of his mouth twitching as his eyes came up to meet hers. "Wouldn't want any more broken noses today, would we?"

She glared back at him before he started tracing the sponge down her leg and she found her eyes closing of their own accord.

Methodically, he started at her toes and worked the suds down her calf, scrubbing lightly at the skin making her flush and turning her breathing suddenly shallow before bringing himself closer to her, to continue along her thigh all the way to the hip. He could feel how much she wanted more and delighted in the frustration on her face when he pulled back, reaching for her other leg.

"You're such a tease," She muttered under her breath. "Most men would have just bent me over the edge of the bath by now," She glanced at him, laughing.

"Most men wouldn't know how to satisfy a woman if their lives depended on it," He moved her foot up so it rested on his shoulder, the hand with the sponge still clearing small circles on her exposed leg while his free hand traced a light path from her belly button up the entire length of her chest, her throat and chin, tilting her head back softly. She crooned to be treated as gently as she was. He knew that a memory comparable with this, for her, most likely didn't exist. In all the lives she remembered leading, he doubted a man had ever shown her actual _care._

"I don't need to take your word on it," Her voice was raspy as her breathing hitched.

When he'd finished with her legs, he moved to her hands and arms, taking both of her hands and sitting them on his shoulders before applying more soap to the sponge and gliding it down one arm, across her chest, circling her breasts and up the other. He felt it start to effect him. That almost urgent need as she began to lose some control. He pulled back to steady himself; try and take back some power over his reactions. Turning her, he washed her back before moving up to her head and washing her hair, massaging his fingers into her scalp.

"So how many women have you bathed?" The question caused Bickslow to pause.

"A _few,"_ He answered, somewhat evasively. She turned around to face him.

"That wasn't a loaded question, you know. Clearly the practice has paid off," She punctuated her statement by catching his chin between her fingers and kissing him, pressing herself against his bulging manhood, making him gasp against her.

"I've had a lot of practice with a lot of things," He moved his hands to her hips and pulled her against him, kissing her back harder than before.

It was so contrary to her nature to let someone else take charge but she let him lead her out of the bath and patiently let him dry her off before picking her up and carrying her back out into the living room and into his bedroom, setting her down on the bed. He lay down at her side and traced light fingertips the length of her body drinking in the sight of her tiny reactions. She closed her eyes, smiling as he proved just how well he could navigate the female form. All the sensitive areas that would otherwise get overlooked he targeted with precision. She arched from the bed with a half strangled cry as he toyed with one of her nipples between his teeth.

"So I _can_ get noises out of you," He teased, calming the now hypersensitive peak with his tongue.

"You sound like...you're looking for a challenge?" She gasped with a half delirious smile pulling at her mouth.

She liked to play in bed. He honestly couldn't say how happy it made him to know that.

"Practice makes perfect," Sliding down between her legs he dragged his tongue through her throbbing folds and felt her jerk against his mouth. The feeling surged through him as well and he paused, letting it peak and fade down before continuing. He made her thrash and buck against him as he moved his tongue in a variety of patterns, learning to use the connection she'd established with him to tell the best ways to drive her out of her mind.

It was more satisfying when it was someone he loved. He wanted to see her happy. Wanted to give her everything she'd been missing out on. Sex was otherwise just so empty with out it.

She clutched at him desperately when he moved up her body and kissed her, sliding himself between her legs, and feeling that all encompassing warmth grip him, hot and throbbing. He kissed her mouth and her jaw, her neck and shoulders as he started a soft easy rhythm. Her ankles locking behind his back as she gasped, breathlessly with each movement. He could feel her building to orgasm again. A torturously slow wind that seemed to mirror his own.

She whined something then under her breath that he didn't hear and he pulled his head back to look at her, not breaking his rhythm.

She reached up and fisted a hand in his hair, tugging lightly.

 _"Harder!"_ The word had barely left her lips before the next thrust drove the air out of her lungs and gave Bickslow his first cry. Her hips rose to meet his while her hands pawed at his back. Sensations began to escalate between them. The limited control over the connection failing; it was growing harder to distinguish one feeling from another but Bickslow didn't care; happy to lose himself in it at last. He felt her plateau, the cusp of an orgasm that pulled him with her into oblivion.

He collapsed laughing, sweaty and sated for only a minute before he felt a further need. He groaned, feeling himself hardening again before a pair of strong hands flipped him in the bed, pinning him to the mattress.

Alma smirked down at him as she moved her hands to his, holding the limbs in place. Bickslow was confused for a second before he felt her clench down on him, the act making him thrust up into her reflexively; she hadn't moved the rest of her body so much as an inch. When she did start to move over him he closed his eyes and ushered a prayer thanking whatever deity had led him to her because he was sure he was all but ruined for everyone else. She drove herself down over him again and again, releasing his hands to do what they pleased while the muscles at her core flexed and squeezed him almost to the point of pain. _Almost._ He pinched her nipples between his fingers and grinned when it caused her entire body to jolt. Suddenly distracted from what she was doing, Bickslow took the opportunity to sit up, wrapping his arms around her to keep her steady, keep them connected, as she now found herself in his lap. He tilted her torso back a little and brought his mouth to bear on one breast then another. Moving his hands to her hips he helped them maintain a brutal rhythm while he all but tormented her. Her chest was the most sensitive part. He could _feel_ it; now growing somewhat accustomed to the feedback from her. It wasn't like before, whatever had happened he felt more in control over it. It no longer overwhelmed him. It felt natural.

The only thing he had no control over was climax, with him buried inside her, one orgasm inadvertently caused the other. It was virtually impossible to avoid. This time however it was his own that hit first and rocked through her making her scream.

He caught her in his arms when she fell bonelessly to the side. Bickslow ran his tongue up her neck along her sweat soaked skin, sucking her earlobe in between his teeth and tugging firmly.

"That...was worth waiting for," He couldn't stop smiling even if he tried.

"I think... I need to go clean up again," When she kissed him she told him without words what he meant to her. It practically radiated from her.

"Gods, I have never loved any woman like I love you!" He purred to her.

"Even though your father hates me and I broke your brothers nose?" She laughed sheepishly.

"My father doesn't hate you, and Vander periodically needs his nose broken. Reminds him it actually _breaks._ The way he goes around, he seems to think he's indestructible," Bickslow assured her. "Dad was actually hoping for a redo on the first meeting. He's convinced he's going to end up having a daughter in-law with a grudge against him."

"Well, its only a little one," She conceded and Bickslow stilled.

"You are _not_ exacting some petty vengeance against my father," His tone was serious. "Am I clear?" It sounded like an order. That seemed to rankle her more than anything.

"He almost _killed_ me!" She narrowed her eyes at him. "And I do what I _want._ You think just because I love you I'm somehow going to do roll over like a dog because you tell me to?" She seemed a little insulted by the implication. "I have no intention of _harming him_. When have I _ever_ actually harmed _any_ of them?" He felt there should have been an add-on of 'except your brother' but didn't want to push the topic.

Ali pushed herself away from him and slipped out of the bed. "If you ask me to let something go, I'll let it go. But I'm _no ones_ to command! _Remember that!_ " Her eyes drifted about the room. Locking on a place by the mirror. "And sneak in here again and I'll break more than your nose, pervert." She picked up a lamp and threw it across the room, smashing the mirror. The Seith could see the shadows ripple momentarily and he bolted up out of the bed.

He watched his brother reappear out of the shadows, now knowing he'd been caught; always a risk when spying on Bickslow, apparently a certainty now, if Ali was with him.

She stormed his way, stealing one of Bickslow's shirts on her path to the bathroom, turning to snarl viciously at Vander as she passed.

"Don't think I'm _joking!"_

"Don't think I'm _intimidated!"_ He snapped back angrily. Confused when she smiled.

"Hah, g _ot you_!" As she disappeared into the living room they all heard her sing song reply.

With a mind reader, a Seith, a spy and a Boscan dignitary in the family, learning to put up blocks was a skill they all eventually acquired, but strong emotion made those walls drop. Something like anger left him wide open. It was one of the reasons some people thought Ali was intentionally aggravating. The truth was, they were right, but there was often a purpose behind it. Vander wouldn't be aware of what she'd done to him; his own temper masking her machinations.

"Your fucking girlfriend is a _lunatic,"_ He rasped, a little concerned by her parting words. "Where'd you pick her up, anyway?"

"She's basically a demon that crawled out of the well of souls on a mission of vengeance and was exposed to the lacrima of inner truth," Bickslow deadpanned.

Vander laughed at him. Bickslow was sticking to the same lie as before..

"Fi _ne,_ d _on't_ tell me, then. Don't really care that much anyway," He ground out, still irritated, but now for new reasons.

"What the hell are you even doing here?" Bickslow asked. "Have you really screwed your way through the female population already, that you've gotta be spying on me?"

"Not _yet._ Not that the bit I caught wasn't a hell of a show, but dad sent me up here to get the both of you as soon as you were...eh _free!"_ Vander teased him.

He'd been under the impression his father was going to retire for the evening. Something must have come up if that had changed.

"And you really had to stay and watch. You couldn't wait outside till we were done?" Bickslow wasn't sure he wanted his brothers' answer so he shook his head and held up a hand. He just hoped whatever Ali did to him was good. "Forget it, don't tell me. Just give me a minute," They weren't necessarily shy around these types of things. Nudity. Sex. It wasn't considered unnatural or sinful in Bosco. Though, Bickslow rankled at the lack of privacy.

And then a thought struck him. Bickslow pausing for a second to consider; just how long exactly had Ali known Vander was there watching?

"That's a pretty strange expression you're rocking there, Bix," His brother remarked.

Bickslow realized his jaw had gone slack and he was staring off into space.

"She has fucking _kinks..."_ He muttered under his breath.


	15. Chapter 15

The response from the palace came within an hour. Unheard of in Atla where if you ever received a reply at all, it could be days, or at worst, weeks coming. But their reply was swift, so much so that Arman wagered the very same messenger that delivered the request probably returned immediately with Bosco's answer. The meeting would take place within the fortnight, _and_ they would be granted personal audience with the King.

Ambassador Pradesh and his entourage were to be ready for the regiment of guards that would be sent to retrieve them from the Embassy. No weapons were permitted inside the palace so Arman knew he would need to choose his protectors well.

He was under no illusions that the Palace wouldn't be filled to bursting with vipers. After all, the previous Ambassador had been assassinated in plain sight on the street, under the lacking eye of the guards assigned to her by the royal court; he _definitely_ wasn't leaving his protection solely in the hands of their hosts. But unlike his predecessor, he was lucky to have two sons with a varied and useful skill set; both of them were extraordinary mages in their own right and were _well_ practiced in espionage; to top it off, relatively unknown. Arman wanted Laxus and Natsu to remain at the Embassy, should anything go wrong they might be needed to mount a rescue, but he wanted his sons with him.

Ali was the unknown quantity in the equation and Arman wasn't sure if it would be best leaving her with Laxus's group or taking her with them into the palace. Having someone as familiar with Atla as her would be a benefit, but by Bickslow's own admission, she was unpredictable and he still knew very little about her magic and how useful having her with them could actually be. Arman also knew how hesitant Bickslow was about leaving her at the Embassy. His son had all but convinced himself that something would happen if he left her behind. Arman wasn't entirely sold on the prospect.

"I'm just saying I don't think it's a good idea," Bickslow argued. His father wanted to see her magic at work. Assuming that the after effects would be as easy to shake off as a Seith possession. When Bickslow released you from his power, you were released. The after effects of her magic weren't so quick to pass.

"Yet, you feel it's a good idea for her to accompany us?" Bickslow was silent. "If you don't want her left behind, I need to see that she can be useful," Arman could understand his son's hesitation but couldn't allow sentiment interfere with what needed to happen. "I don't see the problem. She already agreed to it."

 _"Fine!_ But don't say I didn't warn you," Bickslow growled. Seating himself on the edge of the dinning table while servers and staff bustled about with trays and cutlery, preparing the evening meal. Ali wouldn't leave the room upstairs until she had something other than a dress to wear. One of the Boscan women had provided her some jeans but she couldn't get them up over her thighs. Considering her clothing had been left behind in the square and her old armour had been damaged, and was in being repaired, she'd found herself short of acceptable casual wear.

The men's pants were too long. The dresses too short. She'd been up in the room for a while. Much to his fathers growing irritation.

When she did arrive it was in one of Bickslow's long tunic, a belt, and what seemed to be borrowed leggings and her boots. She didn't appear happy having to wear it and when she crossed the hall it was like a storm approaching; her footsteps thundering against the stone even among the hustle of the room. Father and son watched her collide with every person in her path. Some hard enough that they stumbled, turning angrily to glare at her back as she passed but shrinking back when she returned the looks with unseemly snarls. A girl in front of her panicked, unsure of whether to go left or right and Alma gripped her by the shoulders and lifted her off the ground, turning and setting her aside like a piece of furniture, making the girl squeak like a terrified mouse; the dishes she was holding shook in her small hands.

"I believe my son already explained that I would like a demonstration of your magic. I know what _they_ can do...if you wish to accompany us into the palace I need to know the extent of your abilities," Arman didn't give her a chance to open her mouth. He went straight to the point. Taking his son's advice on the best way to approach her; Bickslow had advocated just coming out and asking.

"Like a performing animal?" She narrowed her eyes sternly making Bickslow huff.

"Just ignore it, she's trying to annoy you into dropping your defenses," Bickslow turned to him and said, making Alma frown deeply. Unhappy that he'd interfere like that. "Don't give me that look. He's my _dad."_

She took a piece of fruit Bickslow didn't recognize from the bowl beside her and bit into it before sliding some plates aside and actually sitting on the ornate dining table, completely ignoring the fact that there was an abundance of chairs.

"So, how do you want to do this?" Bickslow asked her. Put off by the fact that she was glaring at him. Something that _never_ spelled good news.

"Do what?" The smile that accompanied the question made Bickslow's stomach drop like a stone.

Behind her all of a sudden there were raised voices as two servers began arguing with each other, something about spilled wine. As they watched, it seemed to spread like a wave through the hall. Suddenly people were shouting and plates breaking, and two women at the far end _actually_ involved in a fist fight; throwing some rather heavy punches.

It wasn't all violence however, as Bickslow spotted two men near the door all but tearing the clothes off each other, fully prepared to quite literally fuck each other across the silverware. His father staring about the room, his mouth open as total chaos descended. The only one untouched was the young mousy girl she'd manhandled out of the way.

"Could I please have some water?" Alma turned to her and held out an empty cup, asking politely. An incredible scene considering the madness around them. The young girl stood dumbly for a second or two before fumbling with a tumbler and pouring some water.

While Alma drank the other activities around them started dying down. People coming to their senses it seemed. There there broken plates and chairs, busted glasses and split lips. Embarrassed and horrified apologies all around.

Bickslow pointed a finger at Ali.

"You could have had someone _killed!_ " All it would have taken was someone picking up a knife and that would have been that.

"And who would you have preferred I demonstrate with, you? Your father?" She wasn't sorry. Not in the least. He wasn't sure if she was aware of just how frightening that was; how easily she could seemingly switch off. "You wanted a demonstration, you got one. And I can't make someone do something they wouldn't otherwise do themselves. Calm them down, wind them up, but I can't _make_ someone kill," She looked at Bickslow incredulously.

"What about those two?" Arman was looking at the two men quickly trying to redress themselves, eagerly avoiding eye contact with each other

"Underlying sexual tension. I c _ompletely_ missed it," Alma snorted.

"And they didn't realise you'd even done anything?" Arman said breathlessly. Bickslow could see the wheels in his fathers head turn. He was a negotiator, a large part of his job, the hardest part, was actually convincing parties to come to the bargaining table to begin with. A power like hers could broker peace with little effort. Song was required to influence a harder target, but while that would be noticeable, this wasn't. Staff were busy and frustrated. Very easy prey for suggestion and impulses.

But it wasn't without a cost. Ali's nose had started to bleed profusely. The stream hit her chin before she'd even noticed. Bickslow's father offered her a napkin and she took it, holding her head back and practically jamming the corners up into it to quell the bleeding. The Seith reached out and tilted her head back further, taking the napkin out of her hands so he could examine her himself.

"The more people, the more feedback," She wheezed in explanation.

"I think you should lie down," Bickslow was concerned. She hadn't woken up naturally, and he'd seen her use her magic on more than this without the nose bleeds.

"No more sleep. You'll turn me into a _marshmallow,"_ She grumbled.

"I _like_ marshmallows," Bickslow smiled, teasingly.

He had his hands batted away for the effort and she hopped from the table. It wasn't lost on him that she was short enough to sit on the table and swing her legs. The image in his head made him want to laugh.

"You may prefer sleeping away the days, but I don't."

Bickslow looked her deadpan in the eye.

"Who said I _sleep?"_ He said evenly. Honestly, just because he left the bedroom later in the morning than most, didn't necessarily mean those early hours were spent lazing about. Sometimes he was entertaining female company, but most of the mornings were reserved for stretching. Just after waking was the best time for it; the muscles still relaxed and limber, there was less chance of injury. But she already knew that and was making fun of him. He _knew_ she knew that. His father coughed awkwardly, reminding the pair he was there and unhappily listening.

By this point the staff had scurried away, uncertain as to exactly what had happened but unwilling to hang around for a second demonstration. The doors to the hall suddenly slamming closed silenced the disagreement.

"I asked the gods... and they _answered!"_ Vander said with a sneer from the doorway. He looked more dour than usual; not simply angry, his face was twisted with a strange expression that Bickslow had never seen him wear before. Even annoyed there was usually a glint of something in his eyes; a pleased flicker that he would get to exact some form of punishment. He wasn't necessarily a sadist, but his job had left more than a few dark stains on his soul and punishment was something he genuinely delighted in dealing out. There was nothing of the sort in his gaze at the minute. If Bickslow watched closely, what was there seemed much like worry.

The Seith grinned, figuring out what must have happened.

"So, she got you good?" The Seith said with a wolfish smile.

 _"Fuck off,_ Bix!" He pointed to Alma. "You, me, _outside_ right fucking now!" Vander growled menacingly at her.

"It's midday, we'd be dead from sunstroke if we fought. Not wise," She muttered thoughtfully to herself, before turning back to him. "You want to challenge me?" She asked him.

"I want to kick the fucking shit out of you until you agree to undo whatever the fuck you did to me!" He bellowed.

"You may as well ask me to put the rain back in the sky after it falls," His face was a mask of black unholy rage at that. No doubt concerned that what she'd done was permanent. She smirked coyly at him. Slipping carefully out of Bickslows hand; he'd taken hold of her arm in warning. "Don't worry, it wears off on its own. Few days, or hours, few weeks or months depending on you," She said shrugging and picking at more of the fruit on the table. "But if it's a fight you want, that's fine. What woman doesn't love a traditional duel? When it gets a bit cooler, you can have your match," She laughed.

"You have an hour!" Vander snarled, stalking off.

"And _you_ have erectile dysfunction!" She said rather jovially after him. He turned back momentarily to glare murderously at her.

The Seith looked to his father.

"Care to place a wager, dad?" He asked quietly.

"Bickslow, you know very well I'm not a gambling man," He replied looking between his furious son and Bickslow's suddenly chipper looking other half. He paused, reconsidering.

"I think in this case, though, a _small_ bet wouldn't be an issue."

* * *

The heat of the sun was unpleasant outside in the rear courtyard where mages had covered the ornate stone with sand and the Boscan guard had formed a ring around it at Vander's request. She'd been right. The sun was reflecting off the sand and despite the city being generally shaded, the courtyard was exposed and the heat was immense. At midday a fight would have quite literally put them six feet under.

"You kill her, you end up in a jar," Bickslow whispered to him in passing. Half jokingly hoping they really didn't kill each other.

"So much for family," Vander scoffed indignantly, lightly punching his brother in the arm. "Don't worry. I'm not gonna kill _scarella,"_ He said stepping onto the sand and out of Bickslow's reach before his brother could swing for him.

"Yeah! Well, I told her the same thing about killing you!" Bickslow shouted after him.

"No magic. No other rules!" Vander announced to the crowd that had gathered. A few Boscan' but it was mostly Atlan nobles and natives. Drawn by of a traditional duel. His father cleared his throat, eyes narrowed and Vander looked away sheepishly. "No _killing_ of course," He hastily added. More an afterthought than anything.

Bickslow noted he wore his good leathers. Covering as much skin as he could in the process. He was used to being able to cover himself in shadow, create any armour he wanted and without his magic in this fight he was going to need to rely on his other skills. Bickslow knew though that he was no slouch on that front. Magic wise he had her; magic wise, he had _most,_ but she was quite literally built for combat. In a magic free fight she was going to prove a challenge. Spectators muttered amongst themselves, somewhat unhappy with the match already; he didn't know why and he doubted Vander knew just how much, as occupied as he currently was. There were a number of angry scowls peering out from the crowd.

Where he covered every inch of himself, Ali on the other hand didn't. In fact, there was an inordinate amount of skin on display; more than she was usually comfortable with. A skirt of leather plates over her hips and similar around her chest and torso. Her arms and legs were bare except for the anti magic cuffs she'd placed around her ankles instead of her wrists.

The worrying thing was that she was walking along the sand carrying her swords, and from the displeased look on Vander's face he hadn't been expecting this type of duel. One with weapons.

The likelihood of death and serious injury had just worryingly skyrocketed and on the rings edge, Bickslow had gone incredibly pale. Vander gestured to one of the Boscan guards watching and took a large saber from him. He swung it a few times testing its weight, somewhat satisfied in its quality before taking a stance on the sand facing her.

"Alright, show me what you can do, _man slayer,_ " He barked with a superior sneer.

And then she moved and Bickslow saw a flash of panic on his brothers face as she zig zagged her way toward him. Her head down and eyes fixed on him like a predator. He spared a quick look with Bickslow. Before he parried the first very precise, very lethal strike; side stepping with the momentum before her second swing drove him backwards.

He kicked hot sand in her face in an effort to put some more distance between them but she ducked under the bulk of it and pressed forward regardless. She kept herself low, and it rankled him to discover that she was purposefully targeting his legs and feet. Parrying with one arm while striking with the other as he fought to keep up with a single blade. Her style changed twice in a matter of thirty seconds and Vander had a thought that she wasn't actually human. She couldn't have been more than her mid twenties, a few years older than him but she fought like she'd decades of experience.

She swung a little wide and when he deflected the blow it threw her off balance; enough for him to manage a crack across the face with the pummel of his own weapon.

Her head swivelled back slowly, her lips bloody but her expression none the worse. Still focused on him.

"Exactly what the hell _are_ you?"

It disconcerted him greatly that she shrugged. Casually at that. Like she _actually didn't know_.

"My brother is dating a demon?" He mumbled. All the joking he'd done. The mocking. This was serious now.

Bickslow had always had notoriously bad taste in women. Legendary really. But this time was different. Could this thing even be _considered_ a woman? There was something in her eyes when she fought. He knew it. It was the look of a killer. It was a sight he recognized on bad days when he looked in the mirror.

It crossed his mind that he'd probably be doing Bickslow a favor if he struck her down in the ring. His father, his brother, they'd be furious and hurt but they'd forgive him in the long run. It would be worth it in the end if he could stop this before it got too serious. His brother was a good man. If he was going to fall in love, he deserved it to be with a good woman.

The blow to the face hadn't done much more than slow her down a little. But it was enough of an advantage for him to catch one of her wrists while she parried and twist, breaking her grip on a sword. And earning a yelp.

"So you _do_ feel pain?" He mocked as she retreated, stepping away from him while she caught her breath and assessed the damage. He hesitated to press the perceived opening; whether he wanted to admit it or not, the leathers, enchanted as they were, were fast becoming stifling and underneath the armour there would be dark bruises forming. She hit harder than she should have been able to without magic and for someone so _short._

"I generally feel _everything,"_ She responded _._ The first time she'd spoken since getting in the ring.

"Seems we're down to a sword each," He smirked. Trying his best to agitate her but she didn't seem to rise to the bait.

Instead of continuing with a single sword, she tossed it away and changed her stance. Maybe she was hoping Vander would do the same? He didn't know. What he did know was that he wouldn't be giving up the advantage of a weapon any time soon.

Finally feeling the tide of the fight turning in his favour he started advancing on her. Gauging her speed with a few careful attacks. She was suddenly sluggish; less aggressive. Careful with her injured wrist. He targeted her vulnerable side with the blade, knowing she'd either need to move or twist to block it. He swung the blade in a slightly downward horizontal arc and watched, delighted, as she stepped back to avoid it.

But it wasn't the small victory he'd been hoping for as she pivoted, reaching down and trailing her fingers in the sand for balance while driving her leg up and around to collide with the blade of his saber. The sword shattered when the two struck each other; showering them in shards of shattered steel. Anti magic cuffs weren't made of standard metal, and that's exactly what she'd deflected with. Using the cuffs on her legs as grieves.

The force from the broken blade seemed to travel up his arm; a jarring pain that hit his elbow and made his shoulder ache. There were hushes among the crowd while people watched the spectacle. Vander had never seen the style before.

If he'd thought her dangerous with a sword, it couldn't be compared to her skills without it. To his displeasure she was an excellent grappler and within seconds of catching a grip on her she'd twisted herself around him like a serpent and he was face down in the sand; her injured arm locked around his neck and her legs tight around his waist. The crux of her elbow pinching his airway and her heels digging into his stomach. Every time he so much as twitched she squeezed just that little bit tighter. He gripped her injured wrist and squeezed, and while she cried out, the grip around him only tightened.

When he felt like air was becoming a problem she suddenly released him and rolled away in the sand while he coughed and wheezed. He didn't even think about the shadow blade he summoned in the palm of the hand, pulling back to throw it, he would have, was almost certain of it, if Bickslow hadn't run into the ring and he was forced to let it vanish into vapour. He only realised how close to murder he'd come when the blade was gone.

The Seith glared at him angrily. Bickslow had seen the knife. Knew that if he hadn't have entered the ring, his brother would have used it. Alma was limping; around her ankle one of the cuffs was bent inward, warped and crushing the joint. That in conjunction with her broken wrist, busted nose, her swollen jaw; her cheek was swelling in a way he _really_ didn't like, and to compound it, her calf was bloody with shrapnel that would have to be removed before she could heal herself. Before she could heal _anything._

Bickslow couldn't say for certain how much his father saw but Laxus and Natsu had seen it. While Natsu took her other arm over his shoulders to help her limp her way out, Laxus was staking toward Vander.

The Dragon Slayers expression was murderous.

"Go ahead, man, I got this," Natsu said to Bickslow although his attention was oddly elsewhere. The Dragon Slayer understood that Bickslow would want to be present for any argument.

The adrenaline was fading and he wasn't certain how much she was conscious of as she drifted in and out of awareness while Natsu half carried her to the waiting healers.

"If you lie to me again I'll pull that fucking tongue out of your mouth, you little fucking shit," Bickslow heard Laxus snarl. Missing the start of it but knowing that Laxus had more than likely called Vander to task on his actions.

"I'd like to see you _try!"_ Bickslow's brother glared back.

"If you utter one more word, I will have you _flogged_ in the courtyard," From the side Arman Pradesh appeared out of nowhere. Wrapping his hand around the back of Vander's neck; the man in question seemed to shrink in on himself at the contact. His father shook him angrily. "Is this how you shame our family?" Despite not being the target of his fathers anger, Bickslow recoiled.

"We are in _Atla!_ You stupid boy. Do you know what the penalty for cheating in a duel is?" It was good that the guards had cleared the courtyard because Bickslow's father was shouting. "They would have cut you a thousand times. Kept you alive for _days_ while you died in agony," Arman pulled at the collar of his son's armour. "She attended the match in traditional attire, followed the laws _implicitly,"_ He didn't know it, but the thick protective armour he'd worn had rankled the traditionalist nobles and Atlan's. The point of these matches were to test skills, not who could afford the most expensive armour. _"You...you_ almost made me the father of a murderer today."

To say that Vander had gone pale was an understatement. Bickslow knew that beneath his fathers anger was the very real fear that his brother would have been put to death for stealing a low blow. Truthfully, Vander's aim wasn't great, but it wouldn't have mattered if he'd killed her or missed entirely. The penalty was the same. This wasn't like other Boscan Embassy's, even protected inside the walls you were subject to Atla's laws.

When his father finally released his hold on Vander some of the man's usual arrogance resurfaced.

"I was doing you all a favour. That's not a woman, that's a..." He struggled to find the words. "...a fucking _monster._ Believe me, I'd know! I've seen enough enchantments to know a construct when I see it," His voice seemed to strain. "You deserve better than that," Vander ground out.

Bickslow punched him in the face, snorting ruefully. "The only monster I see here right now is you," He saw how much that cut Vander and he sighed dishearteningly. "Would you have really put a knife in her back? Do you honestly think I'd have ever spoken to you again if you'd done that?"

"I figured you'd see sense," Vander stated calmly. "Eventually," He breathed.

"You need to leave my sight. Go back to your room and think carefully on your apology..." His father frowned. "For I will be thinking carefully about your punishment."

Vander stalked off the sand. Angrily pushing his way through the sand mages currently waiting to clean the makeshift arena.

Alma was lying on the stone while a woman tutted at her; Ali unable to stop herself from flinching as the healer jammed tweezers into her leg to pull out the scraps of metal. The locking mechanism on the damaged cuff was crushed, so they were waiting for some bolt cutters. Her foot was going purple with the cut in blood flow.

"Heeeey, sweetpea, how you feeling?" Bickslow asked her with a soft smile.

One of her eyes was completely swollen shut and her jaw was too inflamed to move enough to speak. Her face in general was so unrecognizable he couldn't tell if she was smiling or frowning. Her wrist was almost black.

The Atlan healer didn't seem remotely sympathetic; when she moved or made a noise the robed woman would jab the needle nosed tool into her uninjured thigh.

"Boss!" Bickslow called his friend over. "You think you can get this cuff off her ankle?" He asked him.

Laxus bent down and snapped the cuff off her. Breaking the damaged clasp.

When the healer was satisfied there was no more metal in her flesh, the wounds started to heal. Her face and jaw first followed by her wrist and calf. He could see she was sweating with the exertion. Extending a hand he helped her to her feet.

"I'm sorry about Vander," Bickslow began. She looked confusedly at him.

"You know how I feel about apologies," She complained.

"Yes, and I also know I can't stop him from trying anything again," The realization left him reeling and sick to the core.

"It's not your job to be my protector. Let your brother try if he wants; failure's good at wearing people down," She frowned and Bickslow heard her stomach growl loudly. "Oh, I definitely need food," She forced a smile that Bickslow saw through.

"He's killed plenty of people, Ali. For all manner of reasons. Its something he's really good at. If he's driven to kill you..." He started.

"His will to kill me, verses my will to live," She kissed him on the cheek. "But I've got so much to live for, too," Her confidence as much as it should have, didn't necessarily put him at ease. She locked her gaze with his. "Don't worry so much, you'll age prematurely." The woman chided him.

"How can you be so calm?"

 _"Far_ too hungry..." Was all she said, walking off.


	16. Chapter 16

Notes

I just need to say to Weezel474, kmmcm, bluenightingale (so much love) and the biggest to Desna! THANK YOU! Life has been catching up with me in a rather crappy way the last week and your reviews and messages genuinely mean the absolute world to me!

* * *

It was easy to quickly figure out that Bickslow had a serious sweet tooth; he'd _always_ had a sweet tooth. There was a family joke from as far back as he could remember that if you offered him something sugary and guaranteed to quite literally rot the teeth from inside his head you could convince him to do almost anything. Chocolate was a favorite. He always knew when his father was trying to soften the blow of something or placate him in some way; because he'd offer him something covered in the stuff.

Alma _didn_ _'t_ have a sweet tooth, and she prided herself on not being the easiest to buy; not with money, or flowers or soft words. That didn't mean she _couldn't_ be swayed. The girl bringing her a steak the size of his head earned a rare smile, despite not even knowing her name, Ali grinned gratuitously at her, _thanked_ her politely, _eagerly;_ it looked like she was going to stand and hug her when the girl brought her a second one. It was adorable to watch her reaction to something as mundane as dinner. Alma's heart was sitting solid at the bottom of her stomach. It occurred to him that maybe taking her for breakfast every morning in Magnolia had had a different connotation for her than him. He naturally assumed because they split the bill, it couldn't have been classified as dating. Not really. In Boscan society, the individual asking the other out, would naturally take the bill. Her stubbornness to split it seemed to have been the first miscommunication they ever had; his flag to assume she was only interested in friendship, and from there it just spiralled off the recognizable dating track. It didn't seem to help matters that she wasn't possessive in any way at all.

Women flirting with him at the table got completely ignored. It was crazy.

"You're so fucking _odd!"_ He laughed, teasing her. Looking at the shapely rear end of the Boscan aid that was currently retreating after having just, in no uncertain terms, propositioned him right beside her. "Any other woman would be at _least_ a little jealous," He snickered into her ear.

"She's only after sex. Wants to see how you compare to your brother," Alma smiled at him. Eagerly anticipating her third plate. Her eyes kept darting to the kitchen.

"And, what, you're _okay_ with that?" He asked, dumbly. Only now realising that the terms of whatever type of relationship this happened to be had never _actually_ been formally discussed before...and they might have had different ideas.

"Sure. It's just sex, isn't it?" She smirked at him. "...though...no _crazy_ people, or family... _or_ friends...actually, you should ask me first if there's someone you're interested in," She affirmed.

Bickslow sat there stupidly, expression blank. It was so reasonable. Ali could spot the crazy ones a mile away; knew who would be trouble for him. She caught the look he gave her. As though, despite knowing that she was like this from the start, experiencing it while in an actual relationship with her was too much to handle.

 _"Bickslow,_ you didn't sign any documents giving me legal custody of your penis. I love you, I _don_ _'t_ own you." She said seriously. "I'm still figuring myself out in that regard, as well. If I can learn not to kill anyone in bed I might even join you if the right person passes my _rigorous_ vetting," The fact that she said it with such a poker straight face made him cough. She _wasn't_ lying. That was actually the truth.

The air went the wrong way and he had the sudden urge to go round up every willing Boscan woman in the building and parade them in front of her for approval.

It was _singly_ the hottest thing a woman had ever said to him, and by an enormous margin at that. Most men had to tip toe around the sexes when they were seriously involved with someone. He'd just been given carte blanche. For a woman that didn't actively sexually engage with people, she was possibly the most flippant he'd ever met when it came to the subject. Someone with kinks. Who would die and kill for him. Made him laugh. Was the first to point out when he was an idiot. Liked men _and_ women. Was great in bed. Annoyed the _shit_ out of his brother. Was actually, _genuinely_ okay with him bedding other people. Which was such a Boscan ideology it was hard to consider her for the most part Atlan. An open marriage in Bosco wasn't typical but wasn't uncommon. _Marriage._

"It does go the other way as well, you know, too," Her smile was a devious one. "If you're okay with that? I'm a little pickier, though," She was teasing him, he knew. He didn't care.

He leaned in and nipped her ear, purring. Who could say if this would all work out but it was an exciting prospect.

"We can always renegotiate later if there's a problem, sweetpea." He whispered letting his hand slip to her thigh under the table.

His father was joking with the whole 'daughter in-law' thing, but Bickslow suddenly wasn't willing to let this one go. And then the thought vanished from his head as he watched the serving girl bring Alma her third steak and very suddenly he felt almost violently ill; withdrawing his hand sharply.

He hadn't known what she'd meant when she'd asked for 'red steak' in her native Atlan, but the girl of about fifteen had, and what arrived was something out of a nightmare. This was the third but he'd been kept so distracted by the Boscan woman from before that he hadn't actually noticed what she been eating.

Red, _logically,_ turned out to be completely, _utterly_ fucking _raw._ Knowing the woman he loved was in fact capable of manners, generally normal human interactions and a burgeoning sexual appetite warred with the hideous sight of her cutting her way into completely raw flesh. He would have thought that raw meat in this heat would be asking for digestive trouble followed by painful death, but apparently every Atlan was born with a steel stomach; able to tolerate lethal spice and apparently completely uncooked animal products.

When she'd recovered her strength he'd had plans to bring her back up to their room and take advantage of her present somewhat flirty mood, but the blood running down her chin was now giving him second thoughts.

The long dinner table was full of Atlan noblemen and guests at the Embassy, not a single one even batted an eye that someone was eating raw bloody meat, mere feet from them. Bickslow was suddenly considering a vegetarian future. She was a _barbarian._

"Any chance at all that you could...Oh...I don't know, _not_ eat raw meat around me?" He felt his stomach lurch when she turned to him. Lips redder than usual. There...was something stuck between her teeth.

"But it's delicious...and I need protein. Don't like it, don't look," She said, words muffled with food, rationally explaining why her face was bloody.

"You _could_ have them _cook_ it? Or are you tryin' to make me hurl?"

"You have no problem eating those stupid little _sugar fannys_ in front of me, besides, ruin the flavour," She cut a chunk of it off and held it out to him. "You should at least try a little bit before you tell me you hate it," She offered. The woman honestly couldn't see the problem even as he turned green. Bickslow leaned away from the fork in disgust before his brain kicked in and the water he'd been drinking went the wrong way.

"Wait, ' _sugar fannies_ '. Did you just refer to raspberries as _sugar fannies?_ " A silent glare was his only response. "Oh, sweetheart, I...will _never_ call them anything else, _ever again_ ," He looked ecstatically at her.

She waved the fork holding the meat in front of him and the smile slipped off his face.

"You know, I'm not feeling that hungry. I'm gonna go lie down," He left the table having only picked at the vegetables on his plate, now finding the savory, and completely cooked beef entirely unappetizing.

"I'll be up when I'm finished down here," The way she said it made him pause suspiciously but then he caught sight of the blood dribbling down her fork and he stifled a retch.

"Sure, sweetpea," He swallowed thickly. "Whatever you say," Bickslow needed alcohol, right at that exact moment. Leaving the dining hall, he made his way to his fathers private study. He knew that there'd be a bottle of the best Boscan wine stashed somewhere there.

Picking the lock to the door he found his father asleep at his desk in the Ambassador's study, surrounded by stacks of paper work and forms requiring signatures. There was a pen still gripped between his fingers. It looked like he'd made it halfway through his first name before falling asleep.

"Hey, _dad?"_ Bickslow put his hand on the man's shoulder and Arman groaned, stirring.

"What time is it?" He asked, tiredly rubbing his face.

"Only about seven," Bickslow kept his voice low. He could see his father was beyond exhausted.

"And I missed dinner, " Arman Pradesh grit his teeth. "Tell me, what new emergency has dragged you from dessert?"

Bickslow snorted. Rummaging around in the cupboard before pulling out a bottle of wine from underneath a sweater, hidden at the back. He held it aloft victoriously.

"A fucking drink. Preferably something that won't kill me. Cause, so far the sun is lethal, the people are lethal, the food..." He felt his stomach move again. "...ughh...Ali is currently possibly making her way through her fourth raw steak at this stage. And as if the sight of that wasn't enough to put me off meat products the rest of my life, I gotta suddenly consider the fact that they don't _have cows_. A steak of _what?"_

"If the image of eating it is too much for you, it's undoubtedly best that I don't tell you any more, son," His father laughed at him before setting two glasses in front of Bickslow gesturing him to pour.

"I'm not gonna bother lying, cause I'll admit, I've been a _bit_ distracted, but what the fuck is actually going on here?" He took a sip of the spiced wine and almost turned to jelly it tasted that good. "I know that they don't send you the other side of Ishgar just to run an Embassy," The Seith mage reasoned.

"No, they don't," Arman Pradesh held the wine and seemed almost content simply to smell it. "Bosco is forcing through a new law forbidding slavery. Not simply the sale or purchase in Bosco; this amendment would essentially make any human trafficking through our country, illegal and punishable by death," This was a big deal. Bickslow knew just how big. Whether through direct or indirect participation, Bosco was a corner stone of the slave market.

"Unfortunately, Atla is not only a _source_ of much of the peninsula's slave trade, they're also the biggest buyers. Or rather, these fire priests. Now that I'm here, I don't see the regular citizens buying or selling at all. I barely see _any_ slaves working. Considering Atla traffics out so many women and children and purchases so many men, I had assumed it would be for labour. Begs the question as to where all these people are actually going."

Bickslow felt a lump in his throat.

"I - I think they're burning them," He watched his fathers face drop into one of intense horror. He went noticeably paler; his complexion suddenly ashen. "Probably not in the city were all us foreigners would see, but the smaller temples sacrifice them almost weekly. That's what I found her doing when I got here, she was trying to free slaves," Bickslow remarked offhandedly. Alma had only had two concerns while she was in that bunker, Jera, and the fate of the priests slaves. He reckoned she hadn't cared a rats ass for changing the country like her protege seemed driven to do.

"It troubles me how much sense that makes. Even the vast majority of the nobles here seem to prefer hired staff," He bit out. "My predecessor was to meet with the king to speak with him on this. The laws in Bosco will change regardless of Alta's wishes, but considering our other mutual trade interests, we wished to get ahead of any potential political fallout. Maybe even hope they would follow." No wonder his brother was sent with him. If parties were willing to risk one assassination they'd risk another. But that wouldn't put a halt to anything; at best it would simply delay the inevitable, at worst risk some sort of war between the nations if it was discovered the killings were politically sanctioned. It didn't make that much sense. The laws were changing regardless, whether Atla followed suit now, or chose not to, why would that give them reason to kill the Boscan Ambassador? What were they trying to buy time for? Why did it matter so much that the King not meet with them?

"I assume Laxus knows?" Bickslow asked him. Knowing his father had taken to lengthy discussion with the man the last few days.

"He's aware, though unable to help. He and Natsu have however offered assistance with security. The Dragon Slayers have proven very adept at sniffing out intruders."

 _"Intruders?"_ Bickslow questioned. It was the first he'd heard.

"A man attempted to sneak in passed the guards during my daughter in-laws match with your brother today," He smirked at the look of weary irritation on Bickslow's face. "Natsu and Laxus spotted him from the other side of the courtyard and were able to track him by scent after. Thankfully nothing more than a thief, but it was certainly a wake up call as to how lacking security has become."

"Well, _that's_ worrying," Bickslow didn't give a shit about Atla if it meant his father dying. It was pretty much the Fairy Tail motto. Family always came first. Though he knew his father would argue different.

"How is she? Holding a new grudge?" Arman asked his son, querying Alma.

"Oddly enough, no. As messed up as it sounds, I think in a way she enjoyed the fight. She doesn't get many people willing to go all out like that on her."

"I can see why," He chuckled. "It's surprising, Fairy Tail has no shortage of aggressive women; skilled and powerful mages," He scratched his chin, wondering how much to say without upsetting his son. "Yet so far all your serious relationships have involved..." Arman paused, trying to phrase it nicely but unable to finish. Bickslow didn't _date_ warrior women. He huffed, unable to wrap his mind around it. " Jessica was such a _soft,_ delicate thing. I worried for her greatly. Ours is not a family without risk," He finally rasped with a sigh.

"Jess was amazing. And caring. And..." Bickslow's voice broke.

"Yet even the gentlest of touches can sometimes cripple a butterfly," Arman lamented.

"That's a nice way of saying I ruined her life," The Seith assented.

"The only life you ruined was your own," Arman barked back humorlessly at him. "Or tried to at least. You punished yourself when no one else would," Arman wasn't a fool; knowing that his sons antics had spiralled out of control for a time before settling. He was aware that Bickslow's grieving process had been a long and difficult one. He'd been a sweet boy as a child and there were still some of those same vulnerabilities, those same insecurities remaining. He hadn't coped well hurting someone he loved.

"You don't think Ali's my ultimate punishment, then?" Bickslow laughed quietly to himself.

"I think you love her, despite yourself. I can't say I can offer you my approval, but I can give you my advice: we don't get a choice in who we love. Only whether we nurture the seed," He said. His face serious.

Bickslow knew he was already far beyond that seed watering stage. He took another sip of wine but it had suddenly lost its appeal.

"How's Vander?" The Seith added. "I'm...actually really worried about him, you know. I knew that kind of work would take its toll, but his soul is..." Bickslow didn't finish. He didn't need to. His father was already well aware.

"I have no desire to see one of my own children become a criminal, but...it's my failing not to have seen him suffer as he clearly has. My intention is to request he be removed from active work, once I return to Bosco; have a different role offered to him. Perhaps as an instructor or personal guard," Arman smiled to himself. Vander was unusually patient. And had proven exemplary protection.

"It's funny. Ali told me once that no one was evil. That it was something you could do but not actually _be,"_ Bickslow, said pained.

"A lifetime of evil deeds doesn't mean a person is incapable of good," His father mumbled through a sleepy yawn.

"I think you need sleep. Laxus I'm sure wouldn't mind taking over security for the minute. Give him and Salamander something to so, Dragon Slayers get restless, and when Natsu gets restless, shit catches fire," He laughed. Arman Pradesh knocked back his glass of wine and stood, taking Bickslow's from him and doing the same.

"Hopefully there won't be any more messengers to my door till tomorrow," He grumbled. Unhappy that after three days awake the scant rest he'd planned to get had been interrupted by the royal court's expedient response.

"Don't worry," Bickslow flashed a wolfish smile. "I'll hold your calls."

* * *

Vander moved from the shadow of his fathers study, confident that he'd be safe in his brother's care. Despite being ordered to his room he'd trailed him; despite the rebuke, the anger, he still had a job to do and he wouldn't let a family squabble change that.

Now that he could get away from it he felt like banging his head against a wall. Of all the stupid things he'd done this was certainly up there. What did he think he was doing with that blade? Was he going to kill her cause she beat him in a fight? Or just for the fact that she was dating his brother? It certainly wasn't because she was a dark mage.

He honestly couldn't say when he'd reached a point in his life where the first response to these type of difficult situations involved someone's immediate death. He didn't like to scrutize passed actions and judgements but it was going to be hard not to. He'd killed an awful lot of people in his twenty one years of life.

He sat at the end of his bed and flopped backwards. His father had never been so furious with him. More than anything else that shook him the most. More than the fact that even after, his family were still concerned about him; still worried _for_ him.

Bickslow was right, his new girlfriend _wasn't_ the monster in all this. If there was going to be a villain, it would be him. He lay there for about an hour in thought. His father was going to have him removed from covert government jobs. He had the connections to do it. Vander wasn't entirely sure how he felt about that either. If this was the person that kind of work was turning him into, maybe it was for the best; it stung him though to think he couldn't hack it. That he could be beaten by it. The youngest covert retiree.

Outside the sun was setting and the darkness was creeping in on the room when he heard the scuffle against the stone on his balcony and without thought he slipped into the darkness and moved outside. Even now, he wasn't thinking about disabling them; he knew when he struck it would be in for the kill. Quickly. Cleanly. Methodically. No mercy.

He almost fell out of the shadows when Alma climbed over the edge and landed in a groaning heap on the stone having climbed about eighty feet up the outside of the building. She was drunk. So very incredibly drunk.

"Think you got the wrong room, scarella," He ground out. He didn't trust himself to offer her a hand up. Afraid he'd put a knife in her chest with the other. She stumbled up to her feet clutching the stone for support.

" _Found you_!" She was more than a little unfocused. "Can't walk to your room like regular people, huh?" She laughed then and it reminded Vander of an old man he used to drink with back in Bosco. It hit him, he never really went back to his room the normal way where he could be followed. She'd climbed up passed windows and balconies because she didn't actually know where his room was. How long did that actually take?

"Uhhhh..." When his mouth opened, he found himself speechless. This was the woman he tried to kill earlier. She sat herself down in one of the chairs on the balcony and slouched in a way he'd never seen a person without testicles slouch.

"You just going to stand there staring or sit down?" She asked him.

He stayed standing.

"Are you _looking_ to die?" Vander found himself asking. He could kill her right here and not leave a single shred of evidence. People would have surely seen her climbing the wall outside and if he threw her off they'd probably just believe she fell.

 _"No._ It would upset Bickslow," She slurred stupidly.

And that was precisely the same reason he wasn't considering killing her. Vander suddenly hated himself, he shouldn't need to come up with reasons _not_ to kill people.

"Okay. Next question. Why the fuck did you climb up here pissed drunk?" He crossed his arms and kept his demeanor serious despite the fact that this may have been the funniest thing to ever happen to him and he really wanted to laugh.

"Well, _apparently_ when you ask the Boscan bartender for a strong drink they give you something mixed with _snake_ venom," Her expression turned serious as she stared off into the distance. "I may in fact be dying right now," The words were punctuated with the most amusingly unfeminine snort.

"And _why_ you decided to climb up here?" He prodded further.

"Oh, _yeah!"_ She said like she'd just suddenly remembered. It seemed her speed wasn't as effected by the alcohol as he thought and she caught his forearm lightly. There was just a second of discomfort. A little resistance and within a moment it was all gone. The bruised ribs. The shoulder pain. It all melted away in seconds.

He pulled back half shocked, half afraid because he could have reacted very differently to the sudden movement.

"You climbed up here to heal me?" Vander asked, thoroughly dumbfounded.

Alma ignored his question, instead looking over the edge of the balcony. Her expression sombre.

He noticed she was now staring at him sadly. Pity on her face. "The things that are wrong with us can't be _fixed_ with magic," And wasn't that the absolute truth, he realized.

"I try putting it in a box in my mind but things get out too, you know. I see people that remind me of stuff ...and sometimes I just wanna kill them so they can't remind me anymore. But I can't _afford_ to lose control," She said, her gaze glassy. "... I guess I _like_ the nightmares. I appreciate that I have them. It's such a _human_ thing, I know when they stop I'll worry." The more she spoke the more Vander found himself trying to still the sudden shaking in his hands as her words resonated with him.

"Wouldn't know about nightmares," He forced a dry hoarse laugh and stilled at the piercing look she threw his way.

 _"You're a liar!"_ She spat _. "_ You have them. They make you vomit in the night. Wake up in a sweat, not knowing where you are, reliving the little moments that stuck to you even after you tried to drown them in alcohol or bury them with your dick between some woman's legs," Vander felt something close to fear hit him before anger swallowed it. That wasn't just too close to home, that was a precision strike.

"You think you _know_ me?" He snarled. "Just because you got a quick peak?"

"Noooo. Because I've _been_ you, about ten times at this stage," She looked thoughtful for a second. "Eleven!" Alma corrected herself.

Vander snorted at her, sounding disgusted.

"Are you even _human?"_ He asked, there was a cruelty to his tone. Like he wanted her to doubt it. To hurt her with the question.

"Are _you?"_ Came the biting reply. "I _choose_ not to be a monster. I can't say I'm a good person. But I _am_ a person." Alma elaborated. "The only difference is a choice in the end," She reasoned with a casual shrug.

Vander could have laughed. Getting life advice from the woman he tried to kill a few hours ago.

"Seriously. Why the fuck do you even care?"

"You're his brother and he loves you..." She was a bit pale and Vander knew that the alcohol would be having more and more affect as the venom amplified it's toxicity. A common trick in the last few years when bartenders wanted to move on potentially troublesome patrons."...losing you would hurt him," The sweating had started and she was moving in her seat a little.

"So what? You drank snake venom and climbed a building to stage what, some kind of intervention for the sanctity of my soul?"

"My original plan was to numb myself with a little alcohol," She was gesturing rather amusingly with her hands. "Cause I couldn't find my other cuff _and_ I'm apparently afraid of heights, and _then_ I was gonna climb up here and kick the crap out of you till you saw sense," She sucked in an exaggerated breath. "...but plan changed at ...oooh...about twenty five feet," She snickered.

"I _see._ Round about the time you figured out you were actually drunk, that this was a terrible idea and it was easier to keep going up than go down?"

 _"Exactly!"_ She pointed at him. "Then I got closer and you weren't shielding and I suddenly figured you all out!" She said like she'd just realized the sky was blue and she was drunk. _"You just need a good woman,_ " Alma was grinning, pleased with herself at the revelation. Then she caught sight of the eyebrow that was trying to crawl its way up into Vander's hairline. "Noooooo! Fuck sake! I'm dating your brother...and like hell am I going to ask!"

She looked a little greener at the thought that he might have figured that for a proposition.

"Enough about my dysfunctional love life," He emphasized the word so she knew he was still peeved about her little attempt to be funny. "If you wanna help me, tell me how to undo this mess!"

"Ales Valdratta," She said and Vander hesitated; the name was familiar.

 _"Wait,_ the guy dressed all in black downstairs?" The nobleman was in mourning for his family. His wife died during his son's execution, holding onto their eldest even while the pyre burned. Willing to die with him before letting go. His only daughter sold to a slaver.

"She was in the brothel...I can't think of the name, the one with the stuffed Boro head outside, on the wall," Alma scrunched up her face comically trying to recall. "You..." She actually burped making Vander wince. "...find her, he'll forgive you. It'd look bad for your father if one of the nobles commits suicide in the embassy."

Too old to remarry or move on, that's what Gar Valdratta had decided to do. Arman Pradesh knew this. Why he'd left the safety of the embassy to search for her while Vander was enjoying the company of some local women. Hoping that he could simply, quietly purchase her back without Vander killing anyone or escalating a delicate situation.

"You know the place?" She asked him and unfortunately he couldn't say that he'd ever felt the need to become acquainted with the local whore houses, but Vander was good at finding things. Finding people. If getting her back here would make his father happy she'd be back at the embassy by dawn. With the events recently, Boscan airships were grounded, so she was sure to still be in the city.

"No, but I'll fucking find it!" He felt suddenly better. Vander now had a goal to accomplish. "I guess I owe you one..." He started to say but she interrupted him leaning forward, a somewhat menacing sort of stare and a terrifying smile.

 _"I'll be collecting soooon._.." She drawled ominously before immediately heaving herself against the balcony wall and vomiting into the courtyard below; to the shouts and horrified screams of the people down there enjoying the cooler evening.

"Oh, Bix picked a winner alright," He bemused, shaking his head. "Okay, I think I need to get you back to my brother, let's go, scarella," From her current appearance it didn't seem to Vander like she could walk, and he was right. As soon as she was on her feet she was sinking to her knees. He grabbed one arms and hoisted her across his shoulders with a growl. She was far heavier than she looked.

"What the fuck were you eating? Steel?" He coughed and she mumbled something under her breath that he didn't catch over the blood now thrumming in his ears.

"Had three red steaks for dinner..." She muttered and something wet and slimy dribbled down Vander's back making him shudder. She was a fucking _drooler._ His face fell. He _hoped_ she was a drooler _._

 _"Those big fuck off raw slabs?"_ She didn't answer him, only groaning while he made his way down the hall to the guest suite where his brother and the Dragon Slayers were being housed. "Bet Bickslow _loooved_ watching that..." He whistled, knowing Bickslow's aversion to blood. He liked his meat thoroughly incinerated.

When he got to the door he didn't need to open it, Bickslow was pulling it wide before he ever reached to knock.

"What the fuck happened?" Bickslow pulled her off his shoulder and into his arms, settling her weight, used to the feel. He could see from his brothers face there was a moment before he opened the door when Bickslow thought for an instant that Vander had done something, that was before Ali's dumb drooling smile greeted him.

"I'd wager about three or four Boscan brandy's spiked with some sort of snake venom," The Seith looked suspiciously at his brother. "And then she may have gotten it in her head to climb up the outside of the embassy to my room to kick my ass. Course the worst of this shit started kicking in about halfway up. Fuck..." He stared down at her in Bickslow's arms. "...she's a lunatic," Vander said. "You got my approval, anyway."

"You don't even know the half of it," Bickslow found himself laughing carrying her to the couch, setting her down and putting a basin on the floor beside her head.

"So tell me, how did my playboy brother find himself hooking up with a debatable demoness?"

"Oh, you know, cell bars between us. Little bit of friendly torture. Almost got her killed. Used Seith magic to get her stupidly drunk. Almost got her killed again. Took her on a job that turned out to be a soul hag, almost got her killed..."

"I'm sensing a disturbing pattern here," Vander was laughing at him. "But hey, here she is still alive."

"So, this mean you aren't gonna be slitting her throat or somethin' in the dead of night, now?" Bickslow was smiling, he could already tell.

"She grows on you..." He narrowed his eyes. "Like some sort of _fungus!"_ Vander snickered. "So, when are you planning this wedding for? Spring, Summer? Think our sisters would have a chance of getting her into a dress?" Vander teased him, but Bickslow's sudden pause made him choke.

"Oh, come on? Is that a possibility?"

"How the fuck would I know? We've technically only been dating about three weeks. But you all keep joking about it, so maybe its crossed my mind just to shut you all up," Bickslow said with a sly smile. "And...it depends on the dress. Make it long and have a few armour pleats put in it and you might be in with a chance," The Seith joked.

Vander looked back to Ali, still passed out on the couch. Bickslow caught his concern.

"She sleeps like the dead..."

"And _fucks_ like a demon," Vander shot in with. Bickslow glared.

"Don't push it," Bickslow rumbled.

"All I'm saying is if she wants a little variety, I'd happily show her a good time. She kinda cute in a scary way," He teased.

Bickslow almost felt like laughing.

"Sure, your funeral!" He deadpanned. It was good to have his brother back. Nothing hanging between them.

"You got a plan for Dad? He was pretty pissed. There's a fuck load of Atlan who didn't like your performance down there. Did you even _read_ the rules of a duel. Dad gave me a list as long as my arm. You know you can only use weapons if you've one for each hand? I've no fucking idea why," Bickslow had wondered why she'd thrown down her other sword.

"I think I'm just gonna steer clear of anything traditional from now on," Vander shrugged looking out into the darkening sky. "Don't worry, got some help on the father front. Gotta go see some scum about a girl. Should be back by morning," He said rubbing his hands eagerly. Before the night was out there would likely be a few more injured people limping the streets.


	17. Chapter 17

Notes

This was originally going to be two chapters but such is life. I really wanted to get the story moving and get all the fluff out of the way. So, fluff ahead.

Again! Enormous thanks to all my reviewers and everyone following this story. Every comment and message just literally makes my day. You guys rock! Thanks especially to Desna for her borrowed characters. Seriously, the weight of writing someone elses character and trying not to make an absolute balls of it Lol it'll be the death of me but I'm glad so far you're happy. And also a special mention for Bluuesparrow on tumblr for their work. If you aren't aware, they've adapted a scene from The Walled Garden into comic form and it's AWESOME!

I love you all so much! kmmcm, Weezel474, thank you for all the continued support.

On with the show. Remember, it's rated M for a reason. There's mention and talk of rape and sexual abuse in this chapter.

* * *

Bickslow and the others were woken to shouts outside in the courtyard below. People milling about at the entrance of the Embassy, excited and cheering. A man spinning, clutching a crying girl smiling like he'd just won the lottery. For Gar Valdratta, he may as well have. Some things he'd come to realise were worth more than money. More than gems or lacrima or gold. More than his own life.

Laxus and Bickslow watched from their window as Vander slunk inside while everyone else was distracted. His face was drawn and tired; and he was shuffling with a noticeable limp. Bickslow could see the blood on his hands. The flecks drying on his face.

"Gotta go see how he is. Looks like he got thrown in a pit of Vulcan wearing a dress," Bickslow clapped Laxus on the shoulder. "You okay to let me go for the morning, boss?"

"Sure. Me and the flame brain are gonna need to search the perimeter wall. Should keep Natsu occupied, at least until the cook off later on," The competition between the Boscan and Atlan chefs for the spiciest stew. Food so hot in general that realistically they needed a fire eater to be the judge. Laxus glanced to the couch where a still sleeping Alma was drooling away, a sick basin still beside her. "She okay to leave?"

"Yeah, she'll sleep it off. I'll pull Pappa out of storage and bring her up breakfast when I'm finished with Vander's tale of woe.

"Someone say breakfast?"

A sleepy Natsu mumbled, emerging from his room, hair flattened on one side and sticking out on top comically.

"Work first! Then we can get breakfast," Laxus intoned.

"Well, fuck you too, blitzballs!" Natsu growled. He wasn't the greatest Dragon Slayer when it came to early mornings. He wouldn't make a big deal out of it but he was also missing his family. Already this mission was overdue and he was more than eager to go home.

Laxus cracked a smile.

"See you later, Bix!"

 _"Boss!"_ Bickslow gave them a mock salute, planting a kiss on Ali's head as he strolled out of the room. Within a minute the dirtied, tattered doll that Pappa had been possessing before, fluttered in through the window. The soul clearly having taken a liking to this form and having gone looking for it; the remains of which had probably still been somewhere in the marketplace.

Filthy as it was, Pappa crept up onto the couch and sat beside her, not resisting when she reached out and pulled it snug against her chest. Like a child clutching a doll.

"Well, that's not disturbing at all..." Laxus commented under his breath.

Natsu heard him and came around to look.

"It's kinda cute. Sleeping with a stuffed toy," He grinned, putting on his shirt.

"You gonna tell her that when she's awake?" Laxus asked him, eyebrow raised.

"Depends..." Natsu said.

"On what exactly?"

"How high the airship I'm in, is, and if she can hear me from the ground."

Laxus burst out laughing.

* * *

Arman was seated in shock. He rarely drank, especially during the day but he was three, maybe four glasses of Atlan wine in by the time he managed to break away from the celebrations to find his sons sitting in his study.

He'd retired to bed with a lot weighing on his mind. His sons. The upcoming meeting with the King. That nagging suspicion that they were only seeing half the picture. But he'd awoken to find that a portion of that enormous burden had been lifted during the night. Gar Valdratta had many things taken from him, his wealth, his wife and son's, but the man possessed connections, both back in Bosco and here in Atla. Connections that had already proven useful. Arman knew when the airships were permitted to leave, most of the nobles would be on them, completing their exodus back to Bosco where they would be granted asylum. Atla didn't care either way. By the time the men, women and children found themselves at Bosco's feet looking for sanctuary, the kingdom had already stripped them of anything _they_ deemed of value. But Bosco knew that the importance of information and personal connections far outweighed gold or coin.

These families were _valuable._ Many of them had run the lacrima mines on behalf of the ruling kings; _generations_ of experience selling and purifying lacrima for a variety of purposes. They weren't as useless as someone might assume. There were other lacrima mines, in other less troublesome countries. If it came down to it, their experience could help Bosco forge new trade agreements. Let Atla try export a _thing_ without Bosco's help.

On a more personal level, Arman was just happy to see that one life at least had made it out of that trade. Happy to see a father united with a child.

Vander however wasn't satisfied with that. It was rare Arman saw his son so unnerved.

"I _knew_ they dealt in slaves. It wasn't exactly a secret. But seeing it... _really seeing it..._ " Vander was pale and nursing a drink to steady himself. There was still dried blood under his fingernails and staining below the jawline after a hasty attempt to wash himself clean.

"They were crammed into cages like livestock... things not even big enough for some of them to stand up in," He pierced his father with a scathing glare. "Makes me fucking sick to think our ships are used to transport them. I _get_ it. I know it doesn't seem like I do sometimes, but I really get it. I understand all about respecting foreign cultures...but _fuck that_! Even If I have to destroy the airships themselves, no slave is making it out of this city, not on a Boscan transport," Vander snarled.

"For the moment those slaves aren't going anywhere, anyway, so calm yourself,' Arman rasped.

Vander was generally apathetic about most things. Taking even the worst kind of horrors in his stride. The slaughter at the market hadn't phased him. The blood. The death. It wasn't something that generally bothered him. But it was clear something had this time.

"How is the girl?" Arman asked him.

"Beaten...she was raped as well... but you'd be hard pressed to tell," Vander looked down at the blood on his hands and laughed. "I'd planned to make it a quick in-out job but I made the mistake of giving her a knife to defend herself; the next thing I know she has it buried to the hilt in some fire priests crotch," Vander smiled menacingly. "And, well, I couldn't just _leave_ after that, could I?"

Bickslow covered his face with a hand while his father groaned.

"Please tell me you _weren't_ seen and if you were, there are currently no witnesses?" He rasped tiredly.

"Atla is down about a dozen slavers, but no one will be pointing me out any time soon. Same for the girl."

"Some _good_ news at least, then," His sons, all of them, seemed to love taking risks. He'd never been a gambler and where they'd all picked it up from, he had absolutely no idea. Come to think of it. His daughters were risk takers, too. He'd gone wrong somewhere, at some point. But it could have been worse. His children at least were _competent_ risk takers.

"Am I right in thinking you've made some sort of peace with your new sister?" Arman said, speaking to Vander yet looking at Bickslow with a smirk on his lips. The only luxury afforded parents of adult children: the right to mock them _mercilessly._

"Yeah, me and sis had a long chat there last night. She remembered you mentioning Ales," Vander joined in, laughing at the unamused frown on Bickslow's face. Arman huffed under his breath. She had a good memory if she remembered that. He figured he'd probably need to be very careful of what he said in her presence in the future.

"Oh, come on! _Seriously!"_ Bickslow whined as his father and brother teased him. _"_ You guys are unbelievable," He'd been mocked before over an assortment of women. Vander would ask him if they'd had to double pack Jess in bubble wrap when they'd shipped her from the porcelain doll factory.

"Don't worry, Bickslow, when we grow to know her better, the same courtesy will be extended to her," Arman laughed.

"Yeah, cause fucking you must be the equivalent of _simultaneously_ fucking every five foot seven brunette in tiny Magnolia," Vander laughed though it didn't reach his eyes.

"As if you're one to talk."

"Yeah, well, I've been having some trouble in that department thanks to your short angry girlfriend, so I'm making peace with celibacy for a little bit," He wouldn't tell them how the traders at the docks would fuck the slaves through the bars of their cages in exchange for scraps of food. Or medicine. The basic necessities. The thing that had unsettled him had been that the slaves had seemed so willing; so cooperative. So incredibly good at _pretending_ to enjoy it. So good at lying he couldn't honestly say that the women he'd slept with since arriving with his father hadn't felt the same way. To a woman in Atla, this was survival. It wasn't in any way freely given consent. Sex wasn't as enthusiastic as they made it seem.

His father was right, Atla wasn't Bosco. Back home people had sex for the pleasure of it. Here, it was another form of currency. The slave market at the docks had been a hideous, vulgar, eye opening place and Vander wouldn't sleep soundly till it burnt to the ground. He wasn't sure he would be able to approach another woman ever again without wondering if in some way they would feeling a pressure, or an obligation to sleep with him. The very thought disgusted him. Force came in all kinds of forms. It wasn't always as easy to see, either.

Bickslow saw the shift in his brother, usually so upbeat, so volatile, his soul was weighed down now. Clouded with uncertainty.

"Think you need a nap, Van," Bickslow shook his shoulder. "Grab some food and we'll swing by Ali, let her fix up that leg. I said I'd bring her up breakfast," The Seith waited for his fathers permission before standing to leave.

"Go, _go._ I need to go find a potion to neutralize the Atlan alcohol Valdratta has been chasing me round with," Arman shooed them out the door.

Bickslow picked up some pancakes from the kitchens and walked with his brother back toward their room. They reached the bottom of the stairs when Bickslow paused and dropped his plate.

"Getting clumsy in your old...age. _Bickslow?"_

Vander almost dropped his own breakfast with the expression on Bickslow's pale, strained face. Vander set down his load on a cabinet and grabbed his brothers shoulders shaking him. The Seith seemed to come round but no sooner had his eyes refocused, Bickslow was running, racing up the stairs. Two - three at a time. Vaulting over banisters. They passed guards who sensing some sort of urgency, followed them, but they couldn't keep up.

By the time they'd arrived at the guest room, Bickslow's breathing was heavy and labored. Panic sapping his normally clear mind.

In the hall outside the room everything looked normal, an illusion that was dispelled by the smoking hole in the doors; no doubt a blast from Pappa. The room beyond seemed relatively untouched, almost exactly as it should have been, Ali still unconscious on the couch.

Except for Pappa sitting on the chest of a groaning man that they recognized as the bartender downstairs. Vander picked up the man from the floor by the collar and glared at him.

"I know him. He tended the bar. He's one of the Boscan staff," Vander mused. "What the hell was he planning to do?" He glanced around. Nothing had been touched.

Bickslow looked to Ali who hadn't so much as moved a muscle despite all the commotion. As deep as she'd usually sleep, this wasn't normal.

"Can you find me a healer? Someone good with poisons," Bickslow shouted to one of the Boscan soldiers that had followed them as they'd raced through the building and were currently gathering outside. He turned to glare at the man his brother still held. "What the fuck did you give her?" He snarled but the man was silent. Stoic despite the sliver of fear in his gaze.

"You're going to tell us everything you know, and then we're going to decide if it's worth keeping you alive," Bickslow growled, inches from his face; when his eyes flickered green the man almost wet himself. Seith mages were still feared. Still capable of inspiring terror.

" _He'll talk_ ," Bickslow snarled to Vander.

* * *

In all the turmoil and chaos, fear and death, it had completely slipped by unnoticed that Ali was currently sitting under a hefty bounty. The bartender was a man with gambling debts to pay and the money was good so he'd slipped a sleeping agent in with the drinks he'd served her, probably in the hopes that she'd become at least stupid enough that he could walk her out of the Embassy, knowing the Atlan at the door were only interested in people entering and didn't give a damn who left.

Well, she certainly got stupid alright, but she wasn't the only one if he thought he'd be able to break into their room and steal her out unseen. Bickslow doubted the man would have been able to even carry her twenty yards without collapsing. She was no damsel to be stolen like a bag of gold coin. He was _incredibly_ lucky she hadn't woken up during his little attempt; the cells in the Embassy were better than what she would have done to him.

The healer administered a counter to the sleeping agent and within a few minutes Ali was conscious. Conscious and wishing immediately that she wasn't.

 _"I'm never drinking again,_ " She was groaning, but otherwise okay. Curled up in a foetal position clutching a pillow.

It was her first _actual_ hangover and Bickslow was enjoying that novelty with immense pleasure. For all the times she smugly lorded over him as he suffered, the tables had been turned; he threw himself in the bed on top of her, almost crushing her, laughing wildly.

"I've found your weakness!" He left a wet kiss on the side of her face and she turned away from him weakly. _"Which_ adorable killing machine is allergic to bog standard sleeping potion?" He bounced on the bed crooning to her. The healer had made it clear she couldn't process it. Couldn't process it _at all_. For the woman who negated toxins of the most lethal variety, a common sleeping potion in a drink had fucked her in all manner of ways up.

"You know they add a single droplet to baby formula so teething babies can sleep? _Babies_ have more tolerance than you!"

She shoved him off her and he rolled to the floor laughing before pushing himself onto his hands and into a handstand to stare at her upsidedown.

"Kinda looks like you're smiling from this angle," He mocked her and received a pillow to the face.

"I've killed men for less than this..." Her voice was practically a mewl. "...I hope you know that," She grumbled.

 _"Oh,_ you've said before. Balls on a spike. All that jazz. But you _won't_ kill me. You'd miss me. Here..." Righting himself he picked up a cup of water and offered it to her. "...there's some medication ground up in it. For some reason Natsu was convinced you wouldn't take it normally so he's ground them up and hid them in jugs and suspiciously abandoned sandwiches about the place. Should help," He smiled at her.

"Someone put a sleeping potion in my drink?" She asked before guzzling the water like it we're the difference between life and death.

"Yeah, the healer gave you something to clear it out. Alcohol and sleeping agent do not a conscious Ali make," He laughed running his hand through her hair. Now long enough to cover her eyes and ears. She leaned against his hands sighing while Bickslow sat himself down on the bed and pulled her head into his lap where he proceeded to massage her scalp.

"Oh gods..." She whispered under her breath. "Whatever you're doing...I fully support it continuing."

"See, lounging in bed isn't so bad, is it?" There was moment of silence where he knew she wanted to argue but tracing the shell of her ear with a thumb killed the thoughts in her head; whatever she was going to say came out a mumble.

"I don't remember getting here," She admitted and it occurred to Bickslow that she didn't know about the kidnapping or about visiting his brother.

"Wouldn't worry about it," He said, his voice almost sing song in tone. Which of course made her immediately suspicious. Enough to bolt upright and glare at him.

" _What did I d_ o?" She snapped. He opened his mouth in an expression of surprised shock.

"Absolutely nothing," He lied unconvincingly.

"For a playboy you don't lie to women very well," She lightly rebuked.

 _"Fine,_ you got a little drunk, climbed the building, were apparently, somehow, single handedly able to turn my brother around. Oh, and almost kidnapped by the bartender down stairs looking to claim a bounty on your head..." He said quietly.

 _"Bounty?_ What bounty?"

"Well, sweety, you've actually got a few. Kingdom has a bounty on you for your little part in the rebellion. And there's a few private parties with money to burn. The bounty on your head is so high, even _I'm_ considering turning you in," He grinned wolfishly.

"You _should._ You still owe me that vacation," She smirked and he couldn't explain it, but there was a little flutter in his chest. The woman just had an enormous streak of the mercenary in her.

"You remembered that?" He asked.

"You owe me a favor, as well," She paused, memory from the previous night flickering back in horrifying pieces. "I think your brother does too, oh..." She paled. "I got sick over the balcony, gods... I _got sick on all those people_ ," She said, face stern, staring off into nothing as the skin on her chest started turning several shades of cherry red in embarrassment.

"You know, Vander once convinced my brother Kaleb to go out drinking with him and the two of them got so fucking wasted they came home and stumbled into dad's study while he was meeting with the royal envoy to Stella. Vander actually got sick down the back of her dress when she got up to storm out," There was a twitch to her mouth as she held back the laughter.

"I'm going to admit, Bickslow...your family is sounding better every day," Her legs were shaky when she stood up out of the bed and he steadied her, holding her upright. She glanced up, locking eyes with him. "No wonder you're so soft; must have been nice having a rich family," Alma told him and he was willing to admit he bristled. She wasn't a perfect person. And she could be damn well cruel when she wanted to be. Bickslow's childhood had been far from privileged, and she knew that more than most.

"I've never got a fuckin' thing I didn't work my sexy ass off for," He kept his hold careful, firm, but he let her know she'd crossed a line.

Her expression fell. Knowing clearly she'd just insulted him for absolutely no reason whatsoever.

"Forgive me, that was unfair," She said, swallowing her pride, and he let his hands drop in shock.

"Did you just _apologise_ to me?" There was a moment he actually felt offended on her behalf. It felt wrong. In ways, she had become more fun loving, more relaxed, but he'd also picked up a few new understandings about why she was the way she was. Apologies on their own _were_ meaningless. Words were empty if there weren't actual actions behind them. He could feel her panic. Fear that she was a single comment from driving him away; that a part of her wanted that. Wanted to see if she could.

"You do know I work on the same team as Evergreen? If you think a few mean comments are gonna send me running to my room to cry under my pillow, you'll need to try a little harder, sweetpea," He whispered pinching her chin.

"I don't know why I said that," And she really didn't. Bickslow on the other hand knew.

"People are pretty much assholes when they're hungover. And hey, you're doin' pretty well considering it's your first _real_ one. I'm no charming knight afterward, either. No excuses...but definitely an explanation," That succeeded in calming her a little; dispelling that fear. Because Bickslow knew that some of the only things that really truly scared her, were losing the people that meant the most to her.

"How about you make it up to me," He spoke quietly; one of her eyebrows sliding upward quizzically. The idea of making amends with actions was very agreeable. "How about you take me on a date?"

And then her face fell.

"...the _last_ date we went on involved several near death experiences," She muttered, shocked he'd even suggest it. "You almost got _eaten?"_

"Hey, you said you had fun at the time?"

"It was...I _did..."_ Watching her trip over her tongue while she tried to think, amused Bickslow greatly. "Okay, then. Meet me at noon, out in the courtyard," Taking into consideration that with a bounty on her head and her possible presence in the Embassy already public knowledge, it took her a few seconds to think of any possible activities they could do inside the grounds.

"Ali, it _is_ noon in the courtyard," Bickslow smiled toothily at the look of abject horror on her face when she gawked out the window to stare at the sun, now high in the sky.

"Gimme twenty minutes," Was the breathless, croaked response he got before she scurried off to the bathroom. Her movements still almost completely uncoordinated as he watched her bump into the corner of the dresser and trip on the edge of carpet.

He threw on a clean shirt and sat down to wait. Boscan Embassy's in general were pretty lavish and the guest suites were no different. If it wasn't for the strange feeling of impending threat sitting on all their shoulders it would have been like resort hotel. But it was just an illusion. Nothing more. And one he would admit he was greedily taking advantage of. While he was in here, surrounded by his friends and family, by a thin wall of governmental red tape that Atla wasn't currently bothered to break, he could pretend that there weren't murderers outside these walls, slavers and slaves, hundreds of dead and a King that seemed perfectly fine with doing absolutely nothing about any of it. This was the calm that always came before the storm; and while he had no idea how bad events would truly get, Bickslow knew there was no point in ruining this out of fear of what was coming. It wasn't going to change anything; it couldn't. His father had made the preparations and Bickslow was determinded to enjoy the little bit of peace before it all went to hell. Of course, it might be going to hell a little sooner than expected; what with Ali's idea of a couples activity. But he was curious as well. Dinner and a movie were probably not on the agenda.

When she came out of the bathroom she was frowning unhappily, pulling at the hem of a sea green, knee length dress that was straining at the shoulders; the material not quite flexible enough for comfort. Clearly unhappy with the borrowed, garment she tried not to show it, tilting her head up and making a determined effort to appear casual as she walked over to him. Fingers pushed his chin upward, closing his mouth; his jaw was hanging open.

The dress covered her back up to her shoulders and her arms, clearly chosen to hide the bulk of the scars that she was still far from okay about showing. It was strange. She looked like a different person, and he could sense how exposed she felt. How vulnerable. This was meant to be a date, not an exercise in self torment.

"You look... _stunning,"_ He said, and it was the truth. But it didn't appease her. A thought came to him as she shifted her weight from foot to foot in small, flat black pumps. "Hold on a second!" He left the room and when he returned he was carrying her leathers. Newly repaired. He took the torso pieces and set it around her, over the dress, tightening it up; watching her aura calm itself.

It didn't look as odd as he thought it would. He knew from experience that there were indeed certain women that could pull off the whole armour, dress combo. Erza was a staunch fan of the look, though no one would be willing to pass comment on her wardrobe, not if they wanted to remain conscious and with full use of their limbs.

Bickslow looked down and had quashed the impulse to tease her over her tiny, tiny little shoes. Because really, those boots she would wear hid feet the same size as Levy McGarden's.

When he looked up she was glaring at him.

"Don't even say it!" She growled. Bickslow swallowed the laugh.

 _"So,_ where to?"

* * *

They swung by the kitchens on their way out into the grounds. In the middle of a bustling city, the Boscan Embassy was afforded an extensive plot of land; enormous gardens of foreign looking shrubs with their thick, rubbery leaves and unusually coloured flowers with their speckled petals; all watered by the mineral springs deep underground.

But the large basket Ali was carrying was dripping red, and instantly that set Bickslow's nerves on edge. He almost got eaten on the last little trip they took together, he was beginning to feel the strangest sense of deja vu.

They walked across the entire expanse of the gardens until they reached a large glassy dome; jutting out of the earth like a stadium. Bickslow hadn't been out this far before and looking inside he could see it was a miniature desert with rock features and an oasis at it's center, surrounded by artificial sand dunes. The peak of the dome was about a hundred feet high, with the center cut out allowing air to circulate and preventing the enclosure from simply becoming one enormous greenhouse.

The entryway was under guard. Two stern Boscan soldiers that looked like their deity of choice had pissed in their muesli that morning.

Ali might not have noticed the men guarding the heavy duty doors, but it was more than likely she didn't care. Either way, she didn't stop until two spears appeared in front of her, baring her way.

"This area is off limits. For your protection, madam," one of the guards said in fairly good Atlan. Bickslow saw her practically _boil_ at the use of 'madam'.

"Their master was killed in the market and everyone here seems too terrified to even get _close_ enough to feed them. Unless _you_ want to do it, I'd recommend getting the fuck out of my way," She snarled in the most perfect northern Boscan Bickslow had ever heard. The odd little lilt they used and everything. It instantly caught the men off. The pair of them backfooting as they tried to work out if she was Atlan or Boscan.

They looked between each other worryingly and after a moments hesitation, stepped aside.

Bickslow wasn't an idiot; he was more than capable of putting two and two together. Her idea of a date was to get dressed up and go feed dangerous wild animals. It really shouldn't have surprised him, but after her reluctance to involve them in risky activities, he'd assumed the date _wouldn't_ be another dance with death.

He followed her cautiously as she passed through three more barricaded doors, closing and locking them behind them as they went.

"You sure this is safe?" He asked her as they emerged out into the sand of the enclosure and all at once he felt eyes on him, glaring at him invisibly from the sand. But no matter what way he looked, he couldn't spot anything amiss.

"We're safer in here than out there," Came the reply that Bickslow didn't believe for a single second.

"What exactly are we here to feed?"

 _"Su'parro..."_ Worryingly, it was Atlan word for 'small cat' and something she would use when she wanted to call him 'kitten'.

While she repeated the word in a high pitched voice, he spotted movement near the rocks. For just a second it almost looked like the movement _was_ the rocks, but it wasn't long before he came to realise that there weren't as many actual boulders as he'd initially believed. The _rest_ were fucking _Atlan sand cats_ basking in the sun. She set down the enormous basket and pulled out a large joint of meat, bone included; which she threw high into the air. Bickslow had the privilege of watching as a creature the size of a moderately large horse, leapt up about fifteen feet and snatched it out of the sky before landing and racing back, only to disappear into the sand.

He looked to her; his face he knew betrayed his utter terror. There were images of them fighting back a pack of wild animals presently assaulting his thoughts.

"You said we were safe?" He balked.

"I said we were safer in here than out there. And we _are!"_ Her mouth seemed to twist up into a devious looking grin.

She grabbed one of his wrists and picked up the now lighter basket in her free hand before beginning to pull him forward. He complied only because he wasn't sure she'd follow him if he left and they were safer together.

"The pack leader gets fed first, once he's got something in his stomach the others are gonna be putty. Eyes low, back straight, try not to look like _prey,"_ She grinned at him.

"How the hell am I supposed to not look like prey?" He ground out brokenly. "It's a fucking _sand cat._ If it's hungry, pretty much _everything_ is it's fucking prey!"

She laughed, actually laughed at him.

"If you happen to look them in the eye, blink slowly. No sudden moves. _Don_ _'t_ fucking run. And...they generally like their ears scratched," She said with a sideways smirk.

"You've got issues if you think I'm getting close enough to be scratching their ears!" He bit out.

As they approached the rocks the three other beasts appeared. Smaller than the first he'd seen, but no less terrifying; it was hard not to feel like prey when they were stalking toward them like obligate predators. Wide paws tipped with retractable claws, long legs, mouths filled with enormous teeth.

She pulled another chunk of bloody meat out and tossed it to the nearest one, the cat taking it out of the air and devouring it greedily. Once each of the three had something to chew on they lost the worryingly hungry look to their eyes and seemed more docile than they had been.

She passed out almost all the food, keeping a few large chunks for the biggest cat in the enclosure, whenever they decided to make their return.

The cats walked around her scrutinizing her. When she extended a hand out toward one of the three, there was a moments pause before it nudged the crown of its head against her fingers. Just like an actual cat. An enormous, _lethal,_ wild cat. It's hair, cause it was certainly too thin and course to be fur was the colour of sand and their eyes were yellow. They were designed to move unseen in the desert. Their long legs and thick hide made them quick and he doubted they'd be easily taken down.

Satisfied that they were sufficiently mellow she pointed Bickslow to the rocks and carefully made her may toward them; the Seith following nervously, though, he could feel the initial fear fading and a strange exhilaration take its place. She couldn't command them to do anything but she was keeping them calm and happy, the food she'd brought of course helped but these creatures were used to being around people.

He sat down on the rock beside her and at his feet one of the beasts flopped into the sand. There were tiny flecks of fragmented lacrima in these rocks; they absorbed the light and heat of the sun during the day and expended that same energy in the darkness. Glowing brightly. Cool under the sun and bright and warm in the darkness.

Ali didn't reach out and pet them though Bickslow could tell she wanted to; instead she restrained her enthusiasm letting them just get used to their presence. He could feel that while she was using some magic, for the most part it seemed to be just experience. Like Boro, these creatures would never be completely domesticated, but they had spent their lives taking commands from their master, following his instruction, the gentle nudges from her they probably weren't even aware of, were enough to keep them in line so long as neither of them presented as a threat and the cats had full bellies.

They sat there in silence for a few nervous minutes before the big one returned; a low growl rumbled through the stone under him and he swallowed thickly. The others lounging in the sand perked up, immediately hyper alert as the pack leader crept out of seemingly nowhere, snarling at them all. When it moved it was so sudden and jarring Bickslow had to stifle a yell, because one moment it was fifteen feet away and then an instant later it was _there,_ maybe five feet from them. Teeth bared.

Ali hummed under her breath holding out more food, making sure the cat saw it and turned away from Bickslow. She set it carefully on the rocks beside them in plain view and took care to give it plenty of space. The big one stepped up onto the rock beside them and Bickslow quite unashamedly could admit to almost crapping himself when the cat snatched up the joint and lay down behind them to chew happily on it. Ali peered at him out of the corner of her eyes; a wide grin on her face, he actually found himself returning it. A beast master could command them to do tricks. Force them into subservience. But to be able to slip into a group like this unnoticed while they did their own thing was an incredible experience. One he would treasure...and never _ever_ repeat.

When the sand cat lounging behind them finished, an enormous head turned to them, resting on the ground. Ali sat cross legged facing it and whispered something in Atlan Bickslow missed, while holding out the last pieces of meat.

The thing opened its mouth as she tossed the remainder in. When all the food was gone it closed its eyes and stretched out beside her. Ali crawled over its outstretched paws to sit flush with Bickslow.

"I'm _literally_ sitting in the middle of a sleeping pack of wild sand cats," He whispered out loud in awe.

"Yes, but that's not the date. Just have to feed them first before we head in further. Big sneaky shits would have just followed us around if we didn't feed them now," She winked at him standing slowly, watching for any response from the sleeping sand cats. "Come on, this way," She led him passed the rocks and into the treeline. A minute or two of beating back leaves they emerged into a space complete with a rock pool and a small cabin. The beast master would often stay among his animals, often depending on how much he'd had to drink that day and if he was sober enough to make it back to his family.

The pool was filled with the same mineral water that was pumped into the Embassy; a separate spring for drinking water.

"You are a _fucking genius!_ " He stood, mouth open. Private pool, cabin in an oasis, in a guarded dome protected by sand cats. "Have I told you that I worship the ground you stomp on?"

"Not today," She beamed. Practically glowing with barely restrained smugness.

"How did you find out about this place?" Bickslow asked, because he certainly had absolutely no idea it existed.

"The kitchen staff were asked to feed them till the new keeper arrives, but without their master, they're pretty dangerous," She slipped off her shoes and dipped her toes in the water but waded no further than her ankles.

Bickslow was already stripping before she even knew what was going on. She jumped back to avoid the splash of his cannonball. He broke the surface with a cry of laughter.

"You not going to join me?"

"Exactly what makes you think I can swim?" Her expression was humourless.

"You can't?" She could do so much, he'd kinda just expected that something as easy as swimming would be within her skillset.

"You won't find many Atla natives that can," She admitted.

"And you know I rank in the top three fastest swimmers in Fiore?" Bickslow boasted.

"I do. But...I drowned twice," She said seriously. "Besides, we aren't here for the pool. There's a stocked pantry in the cabin. I...figured we could have lunch or even dinner and enjoy a little quiet."

As dates went, this was a definite, enthusiastic thumbs up.

"That sounds remarkably like an _actual date_ ," Bickslow purred. "But considering its a make-up date, I have a condition," She narrowed her eyes warningly.

"What's this condition, then?" Ali asked finally.

"Let me teach you how to swim, or at least, how not to drown!"

He knew the reason that she probably hadn't learned yet was undoubtedly linked to how people saw her. The guild pool was always a busy, public place and on top of needing to ask for help, her little weak point would become public knowledge. But they were alone here. No one would be seeing her flail like a toddler or hear her splashing about.

She looked around considering their location before taking off the leather and the dress underneath, leaving her in a matching frilly underwear set that looked like it had been _poured_ on. Bickslow almost gulped mineral water. He was expecting her to wade in having stripped down but she took off her bra and pants too and breathed a sigh of relief.

"The _man,_ because I'm positive it wasn't a woman, that invented underwire bras should be _killed_ in the worst way imaginable," She rubbed the sides of her breasts and stretched. "It's no wonder women can be so difficult to torture. They've far more practice than men in that department already."

Bickslow swam to the edge of the pool and extended her a hand. When she took it he realised it was trembling. She had fears. Just like everyone. They were just different. He led her into the water.

"Our first and most important lesson: learning to float!" He said and Ali glared at him.

"I really don't like drowning. Out of all the ways you could kill me, it better not be that," She teased. Trying to disguise the nerves with laughter.

"I'm not gonna let you drown in three foot of water, you lunatic," Bickslow scoffed, though he knew very we'll this was an exercise in trust as well as anything else.

He picked her up in his arms. One around her back and the other hooked under her legs stepped out into deeper water. When he lowered her in she tensed and sucked in a shaky breath.

"Relax. Deep breaths," He hushed her slowly removing his hands when it was clear she wasn't going to panic.

 _"And_ ...I'm not drowning..." She said, voice full of wonder. "It can't be this easy?"

"Kinda is. If you tense and start flapping about, you'll only sink. The secret to not drowning, ironically, is to not be afraid of drowning. Stay calm, don't panic."

And she could remember the panic well; remember the burning feeling as she held her breath and the rush of water when it hit her lungs. The all encompassing black after losing consciousness. She hadn't realized how much it would effect her to actually face this.

"Thank you," She whispered, watching a sliver of cloud move across the sky.

Bickslow took her by the waist and positioned her upright in the water. Holding her up.

"Same principle. Relax, deep breaths. _Slow_ movements."

Unfortunately, it wasn't quite as easy to avoid panicking as it was lying down. The first splash of water on her face and she flailed, sinking under. Bickslow grabbed her and helped her break the surface again. Holding her up while she coughed, wide eyed.

"You're fine," He held her tightly. "Just breathe. I told you, I'm not going to let anything happen to you," He reassured her.

" _Fuck water_!" She wheezed; eyes red and sinuses irritated.

She clung to him desperately; breathing fast and shaking. Bickslow had never seen her like this. Not ever. He'd no idea how she dealt with all the old traumas she carried, but this was one she clearly couldn't deal with like the rest. He closed his eyes and concentrated on pushing out to her every ounce of calm he could gather. He could possess her and have her doing backstrokes in moments, but it wasn't simply a matter of her not knowing how to swim. She was utterly petrified of drowning. Once her feet couldn't reach the bottom she was suddenly an absolute mess.

With anyone else, it would be time to get out of the pool, but he knew that it would hurt her more knowing that she'd been beaten. She had an advantage others wouldn't have had in her situation. This close, with so much contact, he could affect her, so he focused draining away her anxiety. The feedback was utterly horrendous. Jarring at best and nauseating at worst. To change what someone was feeling was to feel it yourself first; to expose yourself to their energy and change its flow. Work your way into a mess of tangled cords and hope you could come out after. To experience them without being changed by that experience.

For something so subtle it required unfathomable levels of focus and skill.

Bickslow hated it, really hated it. Inside her was a spider web in terms of complexity. Tiny little threads that vibrated. Humming with a constantly changing noise that made him ache. On a hunch he pressed her to his chest and hummed back. A soft, calm rumble that travelled through her and helped stabilize her own resonating soul.

It wasn't his area at all and he doubted it would ever be, but he managed to get her heart rate down. Her movements to slow. Eyes closed she just floated there wrapped in now loose arms.

"You used my magic?" She said, eyes still shut and a somewhat stupid smile on her face. Having never experienced that kind of power from the other side before. He'd been very careful, whether he realized it or not, those vibrating threads she manipulated were far easier to break than someone might assume, and it was a costly affair damaging a soul like that. Her magic required delicacy. But Bickslow was a natural talent.

"I did. And it's _weird._ Think I'll leave feeling manipulation to you, if I'm honest. Traditional Seith magic is practically in my blood at this stage. Everything else just feels _wrong."_

"I could never possess another soul. I- I think I'd kill them in the process," She replied. Bickslow considered her magic and he could understand how easily she could do damage. Their powers were so similar, but also so fundamentally different. A lot like them, when he thought about it.

"For some reason I'm suddenly fucking starving," He laughed before kissing her softly. "How bout we go rudely and insensitively raid a dead man's pantry?" He asked.

"You had me at 'rudely'," She muttered against his lips.

He swam them to the edge and as soon as her feet could touch rock she was scrambling out of the water. Delighted to be back on solid ground. It surprised him she didn't bow down and kiss the ground.

She hastily dressed herself and watched him as he did the same. He could practically _feel_ her ogling him as he slipped back into his shirt and pants but she was already walking toward the cabin when he did finally turn.

It was a small hut. No real luxuries to speak of. A single bed, a kitchen and a beat up couch. But she was right. The man kept a stocked pantry. Food for the sand cats and also a few shelves for himself. A hell of a lot of booze, as in, a _lot_ of alcohol. Almost _Cana_ level personal stock. This guy had drinking issues. Major drinking issues.

"Any objections to me cooking?" He asked, pulling a few ingredients from the shelves.

She let out a breath in relief.

"You have no idea how happy I am that you offered!" She said, sagging into a kitchen chair.

The afternoon passed with good food and drink, and when the sun started to set the sand cats started to roar, heralding the encroaching night. Bickslow honestly couldn't remember a better day. If he'd had any fears about them living together at some point in the future, this squashed it. They could work. They _did_ work.

The stars overhead lit up the night sky as they watched the heavens slowly move from the comfort of the sofa. The rock feature beyond the trees glowed brightly and as the cats moved they cast shadows the pair could track.

"You should get used to them teasing you. My dad'll be sly about it, but Vander and the rest wont. They're already harping on about our _wedding plans."_

Bickslow had spent the better part of an hour regaling her with stories about his family. Telling her about his sisters, and his brothers, what they were like, and all the hilariously messed up things they'd done. All the while she laughed, practically till she was nothing more than a crying mess at his side.

 _"That's...unsettling,"_ She smirked. "You told me once you thought marriage was for suckers," She added, not needing to be empathic to sense a change.

"Well, Boscan's take marriage pretty seriously. And the last time I proposed it to someone, it all kinda went to shit quickly after. Guess it kinda put me off the whole deal," His eyes were fixed upwards, locked on the stars "Being permanently tied to someone, it's not something to rush into. Divorce isn't something you'll really see in Bosco," The memories were still painful. People always said time made these kinds of things easier to bear, but it still occasionally took stabs at him.

"There's a cord that's pulling us together. And it's unchanged by time _or_ distance. It _can't_ be severed, and ...believe me, I _really_ tried," She looked at him, her expression tired. "So exactly why are you worried about some bureaucratic paperwork?" She laughed dryly. "Fuck filing for _divorce!_ You'd need a team of fucking _exorcists_ on retainer _!"_

He couldn't help tumbling into hysterical laughter.

"The things that just come out of your mouth..." He said when he could finally breathe again, sliding a hand behind her head and pulling her close. He didn't think he could ever get enough of it. That extended sensation when they kissed. His senses buzzing in the aftermath. Like all of his nerves were lighting at once.

"I think you might be onto something with patterns," She rumbled, pulling back with great difficulty. "Cause your brother is currently trying to sneak around the sand cats. He seems troubled," She sighed unhappily.

"All our little escapades seem to end up along the same lines. Okay..." He rubbed his hands together. "Taking bets! The Boscan Embassy has been expelled from the city and were all about to be arrested," Bickslow wagered, hoping that wasn't the case but it made the foreboding feeling now gnawing at his guts, easier to deal with.

"I...feel _death,"_ Ali said sitting upright.

Any possible joke, and all humour, died in that single moment.


	18. Chapter 18

The docks were on fire. Burning bright enough that not only were the flames from the warehouses visible at the Embassy gates, but the light blurred out the stars overhead. Piercing light, illuminating the sky and thick black smoke eclipsing the low moon.

Someone had dumped more of that potion at the slave market. Infecting the slavers, the buyers, the sellers, the slaves trapped in their cages. The men and women unaffected ran screaming as their neighbours fell; easy targets to the mayhem. Pulled apart. Stabbed. Beaten. Murdered in sheer terror. So much blood it turned hundreds of feet of dry earth to stinking red muck.

The fire that had been started then, from outside the newly looked doors to the market, had been a blessing in a lot of ways, trapping everyone there within the flames. It was so strange, how those effected by the potion ignored the searing heat, even while it licked at their flesh, melting the skin off their very bones. Dying in what would be agony, still trying to kill; mutilate any one they could get their hands on. In Atlan history atrocities had been committed, and horrors endured, but this was something else. The first sight to greet them had been the charred remains of two people. One charcoal body sitting on the chest of another, crumbling hands still wrapped around their victim's throat. They'd burned to death choking the life out of someone. The pair now frozen in that position.

"I've...I've never seen anything like this," Ali whispered.

Natsu was sitting in the rubble, having consumed the flames, killing the fire before it spread any further than the docks. Three airships had been damaged, burned beyond repair, leaving only one still functional. Not that it made any kind of use, there was no cargo to transport. The remains of the slaves the sellers, they were everywhere. The innocent goods that would have gone with them. Nothing remained.

The ruins were still smoking as the caravan's of Boro began lining the street, heading into the desert. Evacuating. While they investigated the warehouse, Arman refusing to stay at the Embassy despite protests, they noticed that the Atlan people themselves were beginning to leave Josta. Leave it for the Stellan's and Fiorians, the Boscan and the Sevenese.

At their very heart, the Atlan people were nomads. Cities were luxuries and at the moment, there was none to be had in death.

"The marketplace was sloppy, maybe the first large scale trial, but this? This was thoroughly planned!" Laxus said, examining the ruined remains of the great doors to the market. The melted, warped lock was the only this still remaining after the fire, but even a fool could see it was in the locked position. Newly fitted and reinforced. Closed from the outside trapping everyone in.

The doors had been closed, and the building set alight.

"What can you tell us about the fire, Natsu," Laxus asked him.

The dragon slayer was going green with nausea. There was so much death in those flames. Burnt and still burning flesh. Consuming it had been unpleasant.

"Tasted like incense," He said.

Outside the Embassy they were joined by the head of the Atlan guard. A stoic sentinel who didn't seem capable of removing his helmet but they could all see he was watching everything sharply. Studying the remains of the fire, able to identify multiple sources.

"The fires were started from various points outside the building," He looked to Natsu. "The incense is used by the temple priests. It protects them from their own flames. There were _no_ dead priests found within," It stood to reason that he'd reached the same conclusion as the others.

"The man in the market was wearing priests robes under his cloak," Bickslow said, ignoring his father's look of protest. It was considererd blasphemy to speak out against them, and Arman was used to keeping valuable information close to his chest, but Bickslow had already seen that this man was honorable and already suspected.

"You were there to see this in person?"

"No, but _they_ were," He pointed out Vander and Ali and Natsu to the man in the bronze mask.

"That...is satisfactory," He gestured to one of his men. _"The temple is to be locked down, no one in, no one out. Tell them that we suspect an attack against them if they push you. If they fight you, kill them...but leave the deacon for questioning,"_ He said in rushed Atlan, Ali quietly translating for the group who had no hope of catching it all, hurried and muffled as it was behind his helmet.

When he was finished giving out orders he glanced her way, paying notice for the first time.

 _"Woman,_ you will accompany me," He barked.

"I will not," Alma calmly replied. Bickslow was at her side immediately. Giving her words extra weight. The others joined him.

The man in armour stalled, pausing with uncertainty. He was not accustomed to resistance.

"I do not have enough men with me to take you into custody by force, but if I see you beyond the Boscan walls again, I can _not_ guarantee you will be so lucky," He stated, unenthusiastically. "Are you her husband?" He asked Bickslow who suddenly lost his voice.

"No!"

"Yes!"

Alma and Vander both simultaneously blurted out.

The guard whispered something under his breath and stalked away, a half a dozen men snapping into formation behind him.

"What the fuck was that?" Bickslow asked.

"Something along the lines of 'I hate dealing with fucking Boscans'," Ali responded with a small somewhat humourless smile.

"He seemed all too eager to engage with these priests!" Vander noted. It was strange considering the penalties for speaking out against them.

"Their armour is designed to be almost completely heat proof...and it's not simply so they can march in the sun," Ali commented dryly. She glanced at Vander. The Kings of Atla were not a trusting lot. They understood that the temple could keep people subservient. Fearful in a way the lash of a steal whip couldn't, but they also knew that there was risk involved in giving a group like that power. The Atlan guard's only religion was obedience. And their god was their King. And the Kings made sure that if something happened, their enforcers would not stay their swords for any reason; for any religion.

"I need to speak to you!"

Vander's eyebrows both seemed to simultaneously travel up his face, while Bickslow threw her a questioning glare. She held up her hands in apology. This was important.

Vander acquiesced moving off to the side

"So?"

"The favor. I'm calling it in." She said briskly.

"Now, as in right fucking now? Are you out of your damn mind?" Vander glowered.

"Some would say yes, but...this can't wait. I know you'll be breaking into the temple, that you can find people, and I know you're good as getting in and out unseen," It wasn't that she was buttering him up, flattery wasn't in her nature, merely stating Vander's usefulness.

"You want me to find someone?" He could see that was a yes, from the nod she gave him in response. "Ales Valdratta was a fucking test, wasn't she...holy shit you're fucking _manipulative,"_ Vander growled, honestly dumbfounded _._

 _"_ No, just cautious and opportunistic. Do you agree?" She asked him plainly.

 _"Sure,"_ He tried to sound casual about it. He'd told his father he would burn these docks down. He wouldn't have done it filled with slaves as it was.

"Jera Ferod is alive. The woman they burned in the market wasn't her. Too much fat, not enough muscle. Too tall. Too old. I examined the body as soon as I got the chance," She spoke with a certainty and conviction he couldn't deny was convincing. "Her father had a small vial of the same potion that did all this. Also the fact that the other rebellion leaders were killed. The only person who could have identified all four would have to be one of those _same_ four. I believe he traded his revolution for some kind of amnesty in the temple and they faked his death," it seemed very plausible. But Vander was used to conspiracy theories.

"Do you have any proof?" He all but demanded.

"No. I don't. But if she's there you can free her and if she isn't, you still have the opportunity to take a look around. It's a guarantee that the temple organized the last Ambassador's assassination. You might be able to find out why," The fact that she made it sound so reasonable unsettled him.

"Not manipulative my glorious fucking ass! There's Boscan spies might benefit from a lesson or two from you in social bloody engineering," He snarled.

"Don't bother telling me you weren't going there already. I'm not an idiot," She said directly.

Vander groaned, running a hand through his soot covered hair.

"Fuck...it's a deal!" He held out his hand and she hesitated to take it, wincing a little, though her grip he found was firm.

Knowing that waiting till the very distracting dust settled wouldn't benefit any kind of search, Vander disappeared into the shadows, fully intending to make use of the disarray and present disorder the city guards would no doubt be causing at the temple. He spared a glance at his father who seemed to understand, saying nothing as he left.

"I think we should return to the Embassy immediately," Arman looked concerned. "This might not be an isolated incident. We should expect a second attack," The Ambassador reasoned out loud. The meeting with the King was in four days. They would need to wait till then to discuss it.

The streets were deserted on the way back to the Embassy. Atlan and foreigners alike choosing to keep off the streets. If the pattern was to target busy areas, then the best thing to do was to avoid large congregations of people. This time of the evening should have been bustling with shoppers, choosing to venture out in the cooler hours of the evening, instead the lower district of the city looked to be utterly dead. The only sounds were the high pitched screeching of the carrion birds as they pulled at the remains of dead animals and unfortunate people in the streets and alleyways.

The Boscan protection detail surrounded them on their march back to relative safety. Laxus streaking ahead, clearing the way of any large obstacles. A very somber looking Natsu leading the main group. They were all very much on edge.

"There's a group of about half a dozen men two alleys down. I do believe they plan to murder us," Ali said out loud.

"Right or left?" Bickslow asked.

"Left. I can smell them now alright. Same incense," Natsu replied instead, cracking his knuckles and positioning himself on the left hand side, between Arman and the approaching lane entrance. "Anyone who isn't fireproof needs to move behind me," He grinned. " _I'm all fired up!_ " He said with a laugh and the soldiers complied with a nod from Arman.

Bickslow broke off from the group and clambered like an insect up the front of one of the nearest buildings on the left. Taking to the roof. A favoured position for the Seith. Ali drew swords and made sure that Bickslow's father was behind her. She stretched out her senses, checking to make sure there was no one at their rear. But low and behold, there it was. Behind them, while they focused on the enemy ahead, a lone attacker was creeping up on them. There was a sudden burst of flame, swallowed promptly by Natsu, followed by a green flash and three men walked stiffly out into the street. Like dolls that had been suspended on overly tight strings. Their faces frozen in expressions of horror, unable to fight the power that had taken possession of their very souls. Commanding their bodies to comply. He could have made them sleep, or rendered them unconscious for this part but he didn't. He kept them perfectly aware of how powerless they were.

There was another sudden blast of flame from an upstairs window, but Natsu intercepted that, too. His roar, though restrained, took out the entire front of the room the man had been hiding in. Unconscious only, Natsu climbed in through the hole and tossed the assailant into the street with the others to be restrained.

The last one was left to Ali, who's greatest asset in a fight was always her timing. Sword strokes, punches, tactics, everything had a place and a proper moment. The man with the knife had no sooner slipped through the break in the line of Boscan guards at the rear than he walked straight into the tip of a sword. So intent on his target he just hadn't anticipated Ali to turn and drive her blade straight through him.

The guards, shocked by the sudden spurt of blood that splashed their nice clean armour, fumbled in the dim lighting as Arman shouted out. It all happened in scant moments. Faster than the breath he'd taken. The tension of the thwarted attack broken by the sight of his son laughing as he made the fire priests lying in wait to murder him, dance in the street. For no other reason than because Bickslow could. An instant. Maybe three or four seconds after the green flash and it was all over. The previous Ambassador had met a similar fate. A multisided attack with a knife in the back for all the effort of her guards.

"Thank you," Arman said, somewhat shakily. He'd of course been in combat, but this was not one enemy fighting another on a battlefield. Or a duel. Or anything a normal soldier would be prepared for. This was a different kind of warfare. But gratefully it was one Fairy Tail were familiar with. They worked together well despite the fact that they came from individual teams. This wasn't at all a challenge. Predictable. The fire priests were slow to execute. They didn't have the experience for this. If they'd had, those attacks would have come in quicker succession.

"Don't smell any more of that incense," Natsu said. The fire dragon slayer was enjoying the stares of wide eyed wonder on the priests faces as he made fire crawl up and down his arms at will. The first thing they'd seen had been a man literally _eat_ their fire attack. No doubt none of them had ever seen _anything_ like that before.

"There's a few bystanders above the shop fronts, but doesn't feel like any of them are looking to kill us right now," Ali concluded.

"I see Vander's absence is not missed. Fairy Tail's reputation is well earned," Arman Pradesh praised them, though cast a weary eye to Bickslow as the fire priests in his control started waltzing with each other. The Boscan guards were now watching him warily. Realizing that Bickslow wasn't simply one of Arman Pradesh's sons, he was _that_ particular son.

"And here I thought you would be a good influence on him," His father deadpanned to Ali. Still at his side, cleaning off her blade.

"Why would you think that? If it was up to me, I'd kill all but the highest ranking and leave the corpses in the street for the carrion," She said, utterly serious before her gaze was broken by Bickslow's laugh and she smiled stupidly. "Sure, look at him. _That's just adorable!"_ She said walking away. Arman had a growing headache. Bickslow and her had a lot more in common than a surface look would determine.

Laxus made sure the main street was clear of obstacles and when the group returned, because despite the objections about him leaving the Embassy, Arman Pradesh generally did exactly as he wanted, much like his children, when they returned staff were waiting for them with a member of the palace guard.

"Dress is ruined," Ali said to Bickslow as they made it back up to their room. Blood splashed harshly against the green. "It was borrowed," She bemoaned. Leather washed easily, but in the heat the blood was already dried into the delicate material. Somewhere in the Embassy there was a woman who would miss it.

Arms encircled her from behind.

"Forget about the dress," He pulled her tight. "It's not important," He whispered.

Bickslow was feeling shaken. Those souls suffered before the end. Immensely. Human capacity for cruelty was beyond what he could understand some times; he was surrounded by good people and it was hard to comprehend the kind of darkness that would fuel someone to unleash something like that on innocent civilians and criminals alike. In situations like this he would usually wash the thoughts away with a bottle of something strong and a pretty woman.

"I guess not," Ali smiled sadly.

Bickslow nuzzled against her neck but she pulled away. "I need to clean up," She protested softly.

Bickslow sighed, letting his head hang for a moment. She turned to face him and he left a kiss on her forehead. Blood had dried on her hands and arms; stained her exposed skin. The last assassin had met her sword, and that was the only reason his father was still alive.

"We could probably do with a shower and a good nights sleep," He admitted.

"Not too much sleep," She grabbed him by the front of his shirt and pushed him back toward the bathroom. "We should hurry up. Laxus and Natsu will be up in a few minutes."

"It's so funny...you made that sound like a compromise but it seems like I'm getting exactly what I want," He stuck his tongue out at her.

Despite the flirting, Ali showered alone first while Bickslow waited patiently pondering how a day as good as the one he'd shared with her could have been tarnished as cruelly as it had been by the second massacre that week. After washing and getting back to bed himself, Bickslow found her already asleep. He curled up next to her and held her close, listening to her breathe. She practically drained the tension out of him, but that was her gift, and to him, she _was_ a gift.

* * *

"The market was a test. See how it spread in a crowd," Laxus said. "But the docks? That was something else. I can't be the only one to notice that the fire didn't touch the fastest airship you've got, and took out the all the others? Took out the cargo that would have otherwise taken space on it, too," He wasn't. There were a number of fires that had been set in areas that wouldn't have trapped or killed a single soul, but did however deal extensive damage to the Boscan fleet docked there.

They were speaking in the Ambassador's study. Everyone gathered together to try and work out what it was that was really going on.

"It's not just the fastest airship in Atla. It's the fastest in Bosco," Arman said.

"There's sneakier ways to get out of the city if they want it as some sort of escape point," Natsu was right of course. Underground in Atla was the quickest and quietest way to get out of quite literally anywhere in the country.

"But not the best way to get into Bosco..." Ali mused out loud. Bickslow caught her train of thought.

"If that airship wanted to cross the Boscan border, or any border, there isn't a ship, or a beast that would catch up to it," He looked to his father. "Load up the bowels of that ship with that potion and you could obliterate a city from the air without a single drop of your own soldiers blood,"

Hearing it out loud made Ali reconsider.

"But it isn't the way Atla fights its wars. Traditions are more important than almost anything, and fighting like that, using potions on the general populous without risking anything yourself, _that's_ dishonorable. Targeting civilians is dishonorable. I don't see anyone agreeing to it. Not even a mad King," It was easy to see that she felt affronted by the notion that this was a distinct possibility.

"Do you have any idea how they might be making this concoction?" Arman felt lost amid a sea of questions. "The best potion master in the city hasn't a notion as to how they could be _bottling_ suffering like they are," He admitted.

"I could do it," Ali said suddenly, and every set of eyes locked to her in the room. "It would have to be someone like me."

The ability to absorb and transcribe emotion.

"Or some _thing!"_ Bickslow mused out loud reaching a sudden conclusion. "You remember the fucking soul hag?" He said to her and she blanched.

"That...is a distinct possibility," She replied.

"What the flying fuck is a soul hag?" Laxus asked.

"They eat souls, but not just that, they feed on emotion and memory. Can cast illusions. They leave ethereal parasites in the souls of their victims like leeches. Allowing them to influence them from a distance. But they normally need to be in close proximity to feed," He admitted.

Short of Ali herself, it was the only thing he knew of that would be able to manipulate feeling, emotion in someone like that. They fed on it, but, Bickslow also knew they fed on the good feelings. The love. The joy. Like any parasite, they liked to consume the most succulent elements of life. They'd survive on pain, could survive on torment and suffering, but it wouldn't be living. Ali herself knew that more than most.

"It doesn't matter what it is, _or_ where it came from. Vander sent me a communication, he'll be here shortly. We'll find out soon enough," Arman said.

"Did he find Jera?" Ali asked, somewhat desperately.

"He did mention he wasn't alone," Arman reassured her with a smile. "But he couldn't provide much in the way of details at the time," The lacrima communication was brief and there was a lot of noise when he'd taken the call earlier that morning.

Alma was clearly relieved. Bickslow reached out and took her hand, squeezing lightly. He wanted to pull her to him, but knew she wasn't a fan of public displays.

"I'll let you rub it in later," He whispered to her with a grin. She'd been right, of course. It was a rare instance that she was wrong. Natsu snorted with laughter.

 _"_ Sure you _will,_ " Laxus teased Bickslow. Alma glared heated daggers at the dragon slayer who between her stare and Arman's sudden impatience, promptly shut up.

There was a knock on the door and Arman beckoned in one of his aides.

"Mr Ambassador, your son has returned. He and his two guests, Jera Ferod and her father, Eli Ferod are down in the foyer awaiting your presence," The man bowed, eyes somewhat glassy and Alma grunted unhappily.

"Do you think I'd get permission to pull his entrails out through his nostrils with a very long hook," She said quietly to herself.

"No murder in the Embassy, Ali," Bickslow chided her halfheartedly. To be perfectly honest he'd see the man dead before he'd lock him up; he was more trouble than he was worth. But as they made their way downstairs, something started nagging at him. Enough to summon his babies from storage. His secret more than likely out, he let them circle above in their new bodies; only Pappa kept out of sight, holding onto one of the leather straps across Alma's back. Hitching a ride, as it were.

It was so strange a feeling. Like every hair on his body stood up. He could have passed it off as his imagination or some kind of reaction to stress but for the fact that Ali felt it too, and stopped dead in her tracks to look at him; concerned.

They'd already reached the top of the stairs and down below a very alive Jera was waiting, stiff and awkward while Vander spoke with another man in a cloak. There were two more people in dusty clothes that none of them had seen before but no one reacted to them standing there. There was dried blood on Jera's hands as she stood there like a statue.

"That's not her father," Natsu said it first. Not that he needed to for Bickslow or Alma who'd already reached that determination. That _wasn't_ Eli Ferod.

"Something's wrong," Bickslow told his father under his breath and Arman gestured for the guards to surround the group below.

In an instant, Vander turned, shadow made blades as long as his arms appeared in each hand. Dark armour crawling over his body and covering his face. The last thing any of them saw was a purple flicker in his eyes.

Alma looked across to Bickslow worriedly and he knew precisely why. It was _Seith_ magic. Extremely powerful Seith magic. Bickslow could exert just about enough control over any of his brothers to maybe have them take a step before they broke free. Bosco had its own equivalent S-class trials and one of the tests was about resisting Seith possession.

To possess Vander meant any and all of them were vulnerable.

"Don't look at his eyes!" Bickslow managed to say before the man spoke and he completely forgot to follow his own advice locking his gaze with the now aged face of a man he'd hoped to never see again.

"I doubt you have trouble spotting anyone in a crowd now, Bickslow," The man said warmly and Bickslow realised too late that he was frozen. Trapped in a familiar and terrifying power. He couldn't turn to see but he heard his father curse; a vulgar string of Boscan profanities that would have made brigands blush like maids.

He could feel his free will slipping like smoke through his fingers. It was nothing like Sept's magic; Seith magic was the power over the soul itself. To take it, manipulate it. Use it as a source of magic. Remove it from the body it was in and put it somewhere else. Even to an extent, muddle and steal memory; the very lifeblood of the spirit.

What frightened him most of all about losing control over his own soul, was that the more power that slipped away from him, the less he felt himself caring. Lulled into pacifity. But something was different. No matter the pull on his being, no matter the command to give in, obey, there was just a tiny sliver that wouldn't give. Wouldn't come when called. Wouldn't bend. It wasn't his alone to steal. _He wasn't alone._

The words he spoke to himself seemed to break him out of the power that had gripped him. When he looked down, he found himself holding Alma's hand. Down in the foyer Arlo Basta was frowning unhappily.

"Still too weak to challenge me yourself..." The disappointment in his voice was palpable. "Still borrowing from other souls to strengthen your own," He sneered extending a hand to Jera. "My dear, would you be so kind?" He bowed softly and they watched in horror while she pulled up a small crossbow and loaded a bolt. There was no hesitation when she fired it directly at Alma.

But she was still too fast for it and Arlo clucked frustratedly when Alma caught the shaft long before it hit her throat.

"Most unexpected!" He ground out at them. Out of the corner of his eye, Bickslow could see his father wavering on his feet. Standing like he was sleepwalking. The staff, the guards, they were all the same.

 _"Jera!"_ Alma snapped angrily, breaking him free of his own thoughts. She was angry; as if the girl actually had a choice in the matter. But it wasn't Jera that Bickslow was worried about. If Vander was possessed, this would not be a bloodless fight. Already he could see the dark eyeless helmet staring at him. Knowing that underneath that, Vander would be be unable to shake the hold Arlo had over him. The only way to defend against Seith magic was to prevent it taking full control to begin with, because once it had that, you were a willing, pliant tool.

The Boscan government had been exceedingly thorough when they'd eradicated the Seith magic practitioners, but Bickslow had obviously put too much trust in them. He knew that now. As far as he'd been concerned, Arlo Basta was dead. That may have been the only reason he'd slept a single night in twenty years.

Arlo pushed him, but the harder the man fought for control over Bickslow's soul, the tighter the grip on his hand became... and then, suddenly, Arlo was focusing on Alm instead of him.

"What an interesting woman you've found for yourself," He smiled. "Tell me, what kind of magic is it that you practice?" His eyes flared and he felt Alma jolt under his fingers, resisting. She grit her teeth, pained by his gaze but unable to look away as Bickslow felt his old teacher pull at her.

"...none of your business," She ground out with a heavy breath, straightening herself. Bickslow felt his magic bolstering her. Like hers had for him.

 _"Tell_ me!" Arlo said again. Bickslow felt incredible pain surge through him. Enough to make his legs shake. Only a trickle he knew as to what Alma was currently feeling. She was screaming, and it was a sound he'd never heard before and never wanted to again. Her voice breaking with the strain before the sound changed and he felt her channel magic into it. Arlo actually flinched with the sound as she utilized it for offense. Something she rarely if ever did.

"That's _old_ Seith magic..." The pain receded and her screaming stopped, leaving Arlo laughing. "A far weaker variety than what I need. Though," He chuckled lightly. "I came for the last known Seith, and I here I encounter _two._ ..." A stream of flame hit the ground at the old Seith's feet cutting him off and he took a fearful step back.

"I don't think I mentioned that we're in the company of Dragon Slayers. Dragon souls aren't as easy to control as the others," Bickslow bit out. Natsu was trembling but now moving slowly. Fire had started rippling up his arms and torso. Bickslow stuck out his tongue as he grinned.

"I told you before, I'd cut that tongue out of your head if I ever saw it again, boy!" Arlo snarled. No doubt Bickslow had been doing that for a very long time if he was still getting grief for it.

Basta looked to Vander who disappeared into shadow only to appear beside Natsu, his blade at the fire mage's throat. Natsu growled but stilled, because despite a waver in his hand Vander didn't move finish. The shadow mage just stood there. Blade trembling.

Arlo glanced back at Bickslow.

"You...?" He began.

But it wasn't Bickslow. Alma had a smirk on her suddenly bloody lips. She'd already left some of those threads of hers in Vander days ago, and when she'd screamed, it had been him she was targeting not Arlo Basta. She couldn't command a soul like a Seith, but she was unraveling Arlo's restraints on the youngest Pradesh with relative ease; methodically, thoroughly. Able to literally _see_ his power threaded in the man's soul. Something Seith's would need to expend great power and time doing, she could do at far less cost. Bickslow looked at her in nothing short of wonder. Allowing her access to more of his own magic. As much as she needed to free his brother.

Arlo had already spent too much power and when she broke the hold he had over Vander, he simply didn't have enough to claw it back. No doubt this bold frontal assault had been a risk. A risk that now looked to be coming back at him.

Vander came to awareness with a scream of frustration and rage. The shadow make mage conscious just long enough to watch Jera load another bolt and put it square in Bickslow's chest; Alma catching him with a sharp cry before he hit the ground. Vander watched as her expression cycled through everything from shock and pain, to a white hot rage that left her hands shaking and her gaze burning with unchallenged hatred.

 _"Owww..."_ Bickslow hissed with a pained cough. He looked down, suddenly filled with panic as he took in the bolt protruding from between his ribs. He tried to move but the pain it caused him made him buck from the floor involuntarily; moving the bolt in further.

 _"Calm!"_ Ali said putting her hands on his cheeks, stilling him instantly. His eyes fluttering closed as his body relaxed. Tears in her eyes as she realized she couldn't heal him until the bolt was removed.

"If he comes with me I can promise you he won't die," Arlo said as Alma reached for the bolt shaft. As soon as she touched it, Bickslow screamed again, eyes wide open, prying her hands from the wood. Blood fountained up around it as it slipped in further.

Vander felt his stomach turn knowing what the bolt had been made of and knowing that they wouldn't be getting it out of him. Not here. Not without a green magic mage and the Boscan fleet saw no reason to send a green magic mage to Atla with their men.

Arlo Basta wouldn't have come all this way for a Seith only to kill him. He had to need him. Need him _alive._ It pained Vander greatly to know if they wanted Bickslow to live, they had to let Basta take him.

"It's dark rohan, Ali. The more you try and pull it out, the faster it grows," He whispered to her, pressing his hands against Bickslows chest around the bolt, pressing down _hard,_ taking care not to touch it. Her eyes widened fearfully at the word 'grow'.

She locked eyes with Arlo, searching for the truth and knowing that Vander wasn't mistaken. The old Seith's face was smug; a look that slipped slightly when Alma reached down and picked Bickslow off the ground like a doll, carrying him down the stairs while Vander kept his hands over the wound. She knew in comparison to Bickslow, she was physically tiny. The sight must have looked ridiculous. Comical even. But Arlo wasn't laughing. Not many could when faced with the kind of collective hatred he was being hit with. Bickslow was already unconscious by the time they reached the bottom step.

"I promise you, he won't be harmed," He held out his hands and took Bickslow's still form from her grip. A large man himself he struggled with the weight. The men that he'd brought with him stepped forward, ready to take Bickslow off his hands, but she didn't release his body immediately. Arlo now stuck standing there, barely two feet of Bickslow between them as she leaned closer to him. Her eyes wild.

"I promise you'll regret taking him, _"_ She growled. _"_ I don't need magic to know you're lying...and you shouldn't need it either to know that I'm going to come for you, I'm going to find you, and I will make your last moments in Atla _unfathomable_ when I do," She smiled at him darkly and he twitched. Trying to ascertain if the woman was exaggerating.

"I'm a man of my word," He opted to say instead.

"No, you're a _murderer,"_ She bit back. Bickslow was growing paler by the second. Vander caught her by the shoulder as Bickslow groaned painfully, more blood now freely flowing out of the wound; the shadow mage pulled her back. Breaking the hold she had on him. Letting Arlo take him.

"You might find yourself grateful if she gets to you before I do..." Vander said quietly to the Seith as he retreated.

Jera made to move with him and Alma turned on her instantly,; kicking out and violently breaking her leg, just above the knee, sending her sprawling to the stone, when she tried to get up, she received another kick that struck her face, cracking bone, rendering her unconscious.

"You _won't_ be taking both. I'll slit her throat myself, first," She sneered at him menacingly. There'd been anger in those kicks and Arlo genuinely believed her when she said she would kill her before she let her leave with him. But he had what he was after, Jera was now unimportant.

He looked to Bickslow's totems, eyes suddenly hungry but they circled over _Alma's_ head now instead of Bickslow's. Joined by Pappa who hovered at the center of the group, crackling with blue energy. They started circling faster, blue and green power churning in an eye searing, nauseating halo above her. Gathering power menacingly. The implication was clear, he _wouldn't_ be getting them either. In Bickslow's absence, she was their master now.

Vander looked down and glared in disbelief at the damage she inflicted on Jera, but it wasn't just Arlo that Alma was angry with. This was the second time Jera had hurt Bickslow under something's influence. Something she might have had some hope of resisting if she'd practiced as Alma had insisted. Though a part of Alma _had_ to have known that fighting against Arlo wasn't a fight Jera could have won. He felt a stab of something close tp pity; Alma had left the woman's face a bloody mess from that last kick. Bickslow's girlfriend was not in a stable state of mind right now.

Arlo and the others retreated with Bickslow back out into the courtyard where the stone under his feet broke and the group disappeared down into the sand. Vanishing in a cloud of dust.

Unlike how it had been with Calus, it took people longer to come round after he left. For some of the guards, they couldn't remember the last few minutes. Others had memories of events that hadn't even happened. Even Arman was left sitting on the steps, staring at an enormous blood trail that had apparently belongs to his son, a disturbing streak of spattered blood that led out into the ruined courtyard; the man unable to properly piece together events after recognizing the man who abducted his son all those years ago. His memory a dull haze.

The sight of Bickslow's blood made him want to retch.

A few minutes after the dust settled, Jera started coming round. Her transition into the land of the conscious was punctuated with a sharp cry as two healers reset the bone in her leg so they could heal it. Alma nowhere to be seen. When Jera realized where she was, she wept. There was dried blood on her hands. Blood that had already been staining them when she walked into the Embassy. Vander had been there to watch as Arlo force her to kill her own father. _Nothing_ Alma had done to her would ever come close to hurting her like that had.

Vander sat with his own father on the steps and tried to come to terms with having handed his brother over to a monster; who knew why Arlo Basta wanted Bickslow after all these years, but it certainly wasn't going to be good. They all knew that with certainty. Vander had seen them make the potions in large vats. Made with the tears of an enormous creature they held down there in chains. The dark fluid leaking from it, collected and added to the rest of the concoction. If it wasn't so terrifying, it might even be pitiable. It lived in _agony...and_ hunger.

"Checked about a two mile radius around the Embassy for any whiff of Bix, but either they're masking their scents, or they went further, I can't fucking tell," Laxus choked out. His best friend was gone. Taken and he'd been unable to do more than twitch.

"Where's Ali?" Natsu asked.

"No idea, she slunk off with his babies in tow..." Vander said. She was the next step in locating him. Between her and his totems, she was sure to find him regardless of where he was in the city, or what magic was shielding him. The only question was if she'd be able. Basta's magic had physically hurt her, and it seemed that she'd been taking Bickslow's pain. Sharing it to ease his discomfort. She was weakened right now.

"I'll make this right..." Jera muttered weakly as one of the healers double checked their work, having already repaired the worst of the injuries to her face.

"It wasn't your fault," Natsu patted her on the shoulder.

"But I _killed_ them," She buried her face in her hands, crying.

"Bickslow's alive, and your father _deserved_ it...and probably far worse than _you_ delivered," Alma said rather cruelly. Everyone stilled when they saw her in the doorway.

"He's in the Palace. Underground. I'm willing to wager there's a cellar or dungeon there that rarely gets used. But the place is covered in wards. Getting in unannounced won't be easy," She stated rather casually.

 _"Woman!_ Your fucking eyes are _bleeding!"_ Vander was the first to say it out loud while the rest stared in mild horror. A steady stream had started flowing down her cheeks. Her gaze was just a see of red, punctuated by the black of her pupils. She resembled Levy a lot, and those large eyes were now suddenly terrifying.

"Wherever he is, there's more of that potion. A _lot_ more. He's not conscious enough to block it out," Her nose had begun trickling while she talked.

"So what, you're soaking it all up again. Like the market? Soaking it all up from _here?"_ Laxus asked her incredulously _._

 _"_ Bickslow is doing the soaking. He's _drowning_ in it," She was quickly paling.

"Alma...I'm sorr..." A snarl suddenly interrupted Jera's apology as Alma whipped her head around like a snake.

 _"If you finish that sentence I'll break the other one,"_ She hissed. More creature than woman.

"Enough!" Laxus growled. _"You_ couldn't save him either, so d _on't_ take it out on Jera. The only people at fault are out _there._ So we're going to track them down like the dogs they are and make sure they never get the opportunity to ruin another life," Laxus said, now realizing that Alma was suffering the effects of whatever had driven those people to madness. She no longer had the luxury of sleeping through it. She was awake, and consciously experiencing it all.

He took a stance in front of her.

"Are you going to be able to deal?" His words were softer now and seemed to stir some kind of self awareness in her.

"I don't have a choice..." She said weakly.

It must be an incredibly old, incredibly powerful hag to be able to feed at a distance. She knew this because taking from Bickslow with so much between them drained her immensely. She knew it was powerful; in the same way she knew it must have been dying; hatred was a poison, and pain and suffering where very empty meals. It was a piss poor diet to begin with before they drained it all out to make their potion. It was being starved and the hungrier it would get, the more willing it would be to feed on whatever it was given.

Comparisons could be drawn between her own magic and theirs. Both nefariously insidious. Able to creep their way into vulnerable souls. Twist them into feeling what they wanted.

But if a soul hag could feed itself in such a way. Devour souls. She probably could as well and that was an unnerving thought she wouldn't voice out loud.

Every magic had its darkest parts, with most falling somewhere between. Already her magic was bending to darkness. She knew that. But she also knew that to do nothing would condemn Bickslow to whatever fate his old master had planned for him. She could survive anything but losing him.

"That's borderline dark magic you're taking in..." Vander said in hushed tones. "It'll _kill_ you, or it'll fuck you up so bad we'll have to finish the job."

"It's not borderline _anything._ But you can stand there feeling sorry for me, or _terrified_ , or you can start preparing for your trip to the palace to meet with the King. Because that's the only way we're going to get anywhere _near_ Bickslow without truly _insane_ levels of bloodshed," She said. "And right now, to _me,_ that's sounding better by the second."

No one could look at her directly. It seemed to be that she stopped blinking. Eyes red and bleeding like the afflicted. But unlike them, she wasn't running around murdering and destroying anything she could get her hands on. It was held within. Restrained. Her rage had a different, more specific target.

"I agree. If the Palace is where Bickslow has been taken..." he glanced at Alma who was unwavering. Arman knew better than to doubt it now. "...then our invitation to attend court is the best chance of getting in," Arman agreed. "What we do once inside, however, is anyone's guess," He muttered. "I'm...open to suggestions."

Vander locked eyes with Laxus. A silent communication passing between them.

"Leave the details to us!" Laxus said.

They had three days before they met with the King. Bickslow and Alma had to make it that long.


	19. Chapter 19

There was blood on his lips and his chest felt tight but Bickslow knew he was alive. Pain was one of those universal indicators that you still walked among the living. But he knew from the cold creeping through his bones and the lack of anything resembling a mattress, he might start wishing otherwise before the day was out. He knew this entire trip was going to involve it's hiccups, as truly dreadful as this was, the reward was worth it all.

He stretched out along the cold floor and heard the rattle of chains; felt the chill of stone and steel. When he cracked an eye open and adjusted to the dim light, he found himself in a small cell, his clothes had been swapped out with a pair of loose ragged pants and a shirt. His boots gone and a magic cancelling cuff affixed around one ankle. Sitting up was agony but he made himself move toward the wall so he could prop himself upright and get a better look around his new prison.

His last memories flooded to the surface. Arlo and Jera, his brother, being shot with a crossbow, a soft voice lulling him to sleep. He pressed a hand to the stitched wound on his chest and frowned. It hurt. It hurt quite a bit, but for potentially fatal wound it was oddly manageable.

His head was groggy; being cut off from his magic left him feeling strange, numb, like his senses bad been dulled. Bickslow suddenly felt inexplicably _tiny;_ not knowing if Alma was okay, or if his totems were here or with her. Without access to his magic he was just a man. A man in chains in a dungeon cell. It was all so _ordinary._

As he sat there in the meek lighting, his eyes alerted him to the red mist that was sifting through the air and Bickslow had a brief moment of panic knowing he was breathing the potion that had driven hundreds to madness. Frantically, he checked his eyes for blood, finding none. He recited the alphabet and laughed. Without his magic to protect himself, he should have been vulnerable to it, but ...he didn't seem affected. Apart from the wound in his chest, he felt otherwise completely normal.

Reaching down he pulled at the cuff on his ankle and checked the locking mechanism. It was an intricate looking lock that required a key, not the standard type of cuff. He grunted unhappily, patting the floor for anything he might be able to use to pick it or break it, but it seemed he was in possession of the cleanest dungeon cell in Atla because there was _nothing._ Not even a chip of loose stone within reach that he could have used.

He collapsed back against the wall in frustration but didn't get long enough to wallow in his misery before the door to his room rattled with the sound of keys and he found himself sitting up straight.

Arlo walked in, unfazed by the look of outright fury on Bickslow's face. His expression was a burning pit of hatred.

"Where's Alma?" Bickslow bit out harshly. He didn't know if she was in the cell next to him or back at the Embassy. She could have been dead for all he knew. His family, his friends; he swore then if Arlo had hurt them he'd find a way to make it pay.

 _"Alma?"_ He stopped, mid step, sounding genuinely surprised. _"That_ was _her?_ The one the guards all tell horror stories about?" He spared a dry, hoarse chuckle. "Well, now I'm in a little bit of a pickle, boy, because she threatened to _murder_ me," He sounded amused. "I may have to watch my back a little more closely," He smiled. "Her and the others I wager are still back at the Embassy, licking their wounds as it were." He saw the look on Bickslow's face. "Yes, they're still alive."

Bickslow occupied his thoughts imagining her beating him to death with one of his own severed limbs and latched onto that image in his head. If nothing else, Arlo's admission told him she was more than likely okay. The others, too.

"I do apologise for the accommodations. I suppose every _other_ Seith in Bosco at some point has seen the inside of a cell, it's only fair that you do to. If only for a short time," Age hadn't been entirely kind to the old Seith and he walked with a stiff right leg. In the cell he lowered himself awkwardly down and sat against the far wall facing Bickslow, resting his arms on his elbows; sighing tiredly.

"I myself spent the better part of seven years inside of one, no where _near_ as nice as this. The others of our guild weren't quite so lucky," He lamented. Bickslow almost choked when he refered to it as ever having been _his_ guild. Crones Peak still gave him occasional nightmares. Arlo made no indication he'd seen the scowl. "Our homeland imprisoned them, tortured them, used them when they could," Bickslow saw actual remorse in the man's eyes. "When they eventually got around to putting them to death, it was as much a kindness as anything."

"So what? Am I meant to feel sorry for you?" He said with narrowed eyes. "You want to talk about being _used?_ I'm the _wrong_ person to be weeping to. Or have you forgotten already? Cause let me tell you, _I_ fucking haven't," Bickslow spat, angrily.

Arlo spread his hands and lowered his head in pardon.

"That's _perfectly_ understandable," He said without judgement. "I abused your trust in me. And I paid for my crimes. We intended to use you like the others...but you weren't like them. Years alone in a dank, putrid cell taught me that. We should have made you family, a _son..."_ He started to say but was interrupted.

 _"Shut the fuck up!_ " Bickslow snarled at him, enraged. "I _have_ a father. And you aren't even the muck on the soles of his boots."

Arlo closed his eyes and sighed, somewhat vexed but making no move to rebuke Bickslow's insult. Silence rained heavily between them.

"You talk like you give a damn, but I'm still trapped in here in chains while you pump this poison in on top of me," Bickslow finally said quietly, breaking the terse silence.

"Ah yes, well I was curious," Arlo admitted with a cocked brow. Bickslow frowned deeply, his chest ached. Arlo stretched out a leg along the floor, wincing as he did.

"The soul hag the fire priests captured and chained here has resided in Atla longer than the Kingdom. A creature so old it has forgotten it's own name. If it ever even had one," Arlo looked around and spread his hands. These dungeons are filled with its magic. It's illusion," He smiled.

He smirked. "Did you know that along with elemental magic, Seith magic is one of the oldest forms?"

"I did," Bickslow said. His expression tired. He didn't want to continue with this conversation. Arlo was a man that could worm his way into a person without the use of _any_ magic.

"And that it was learned by studying the soul eaters that crossed into the living world?" He asked.

Bickslow sighed, nodding.

"I guessed as much. From the texts I'd read."

"But, as powerful as that magic could be, it exacted a cost on our own souls. We who start off so innocent and pure; for the more powerful magic, we learned to offset that cost by using those creatures; letting them take the darkness," He shrugged. "The problem with that was that there weren't that many to begin with, and as the numbers of Seith grew, their numbers dwindled..." Bickslow knew what they'd replaced those creatures with. "...and we had to find _other_ means to practice," He spread his hands, gesturing apologetically. As though they'd really little choice in the matter but to murder children.

"You mean, you'd to find another way to practice dark magic without the ramifications. Because that's what the Seith mages did. They enslaved guilds and governments. Stole and murdered. Then they tried to run from the consequences of it all," Bickslow sneered, hate in his voice. That had been precisely what Arlo had been doing with him. What he'd no doubt done with other children beforehand. Bickslow's babies had been just like him. Before Arlo and the others had stolen their souls.

"Yes, well, it was a magic learned from monsters. There was always going to be a consequence to that kind of power...but I have my soul eater...and it seems you have _yours,"_ He said with a knowing smirk. "Of course, I'll concede yours to be more attractive... _possibly_ more terrifying." Arlo scratched the back of his head chucklong. "Maybe a _lot_ more terrifying."

"Alma..."

"Is a capacitor for your stronger spells. Able to amplify them. Capable of taking the worst of the feedback in your place. Her kinds magic is always weaker, but together with a Seith? It can be quite spectacular; the _old_ magic," He smiled brightly. "Seith power in its _original_ form...before we learned to take souls, we were taught to influence them," Bickslow felt his stomach turn. "You're drawn to her? Your magic?"

Bickslows face must have said it all because Arlo laughed at him.

"And what, you think it's _love?"_ He asked him. "Allow me to let you in on something. You will _never_ know true, unconditional love. _That_ is the ultimate cost of Seith magic. Why every relationship over time becomes strained, why every woman eventually leaves. With the power over souls, comes the eventuality of losing your own. Of _absolute_ corruption," He looked pitiably at Bickslow. "You think that you possess others, when its really you that's been possessed; you belong to the magic you practice," He whispered then. "The same to be said about her."

"You don't know a _thing_ about her," Bickslow spoke but his words had lost their venom.

"I'll concede, I don't, but when I'm done here with you, I'd rather like to. Our magic is recognizable in Bosco, but hers wouldn't be. If she could be persuaded to teach others her way, the Seith mage could return. We wouldn't _need_ to steal souls. For everyone like us, we could make sure there was someone like _her,"_ He made it sound reasonable, almost reasonable enough for Bickslow to forget what Arlo would do with another Seith guild.

"There's _no one_ like her," Bickslow had nearly forgotten just how manipulative Arlo Basta could be. When he was a child, Arlo had told him that because he was now a fully practicing Seith mage, his own family would disown him. That he'd spend the rest of his life in prison for it. But it wasn't true. Just like this wasn't.

Bickslow _knew_ there was magical link between his soul and hers, but there was more to it than that. That stupid laugh. The temper tantrums she pulled when she was frustrated with something. The way her face would crinkle and her nose ring would slip unevenly when she got annoyed or pulled a face. He _genuinely_ loved her. And there wasn't a damn thing Basta would say that would change that. Being around her made him happy. He knew it was the same for her. What else was there to ever consider? Magic could bring them together, but it couldn't build friendships. It couldn't make someone someone else.

"Would you _die_ for that creature you have locked up? Would it do the same for you?" Bickslow asked calmly. "Yeah, I love her. I also love my family. And I love my guild. I _love_ my friends," He huffed, glaring at his former master. "Don't blame Seith magic for turning you into a heartless bastard. You did that _all_ on your own!"

Arlo's expression became stony.

"You've always been incredibly thick headed. It's partly what makes you a good Seith mage. I see time has made you more so," Arlo added.

"Well, you tried the same kind of manipulative crap when I was a kid and it sure as fuck didn't work then, more fool you for thinking it'd work now," Bickslow lowered his head and narrowed his eyes. "If you want me to do something, you're gonna have to _force_ me. And you'll _break_ me trying before I give you a damn thing," He smiled grimly at his captor. "Then they're going to break _you!"_

 _"Good,_ I need that thick skull of yours, I _need_ that will... _and_ your power," He solemnly intoned.

"For what?" Bickslow asked and Arlo frowned.

"Do you really expect me to actually tell you?" He said standing. His joints cracked and creaked like an old wooden door from sitting on the hard ground. The despondent look on Bickslow's face made him laugh. The sound echoed along the corridors for what seemed like an eternity as he left him then, barring the door behind him.

Bickslow sat still. Despite what he truly believed, Arlo always had the power to rattle him. Make him question himself. More than his power as a Seith, it was this that made him truly dangerous. There he'd stood, brazenly trying to turn a decades old hatred into something he could use. Turn an enemy into an ally.

Bickslow's chest itched to the point he had to resist tearing at the skin. He spared a glance under the dressing; the stitches needed to be removed because the wound was already long closed. On a theory he pulled at one of the crude knots, just hard enough to break the skin, enough to bleed as he yanked the thread free. The wound he'd made healed almost instantly.

"Fuck it, I'm gonna marry her," He whispered with a dry laugh.

For all Arlo _did_ know, this was something he probably didn't. It also told Bickslow that Alma was okay and had access to her magic; and if she had that, she could find him. The others undoubtedly wouldn't be far behind.

Arlo had _his_ hag. But Bickslow had someone far more important. He just needed to concentrate on surviving till they could reach him.

* * *

Vander noticed that Jera slept no more than Alma had in the two days following. But where Alma couldn't sleep without the risk that she'd miss the trip into the palace with the minor coma that would undoubtedly grip her, Jera was incapable of sleep for other reasons. Unable to close her eyes without seeing her father's face on the other side of them. So in the wake of sleep, she practiced in one of the unused storage rooms in the basement of the Embassy. Relentlessly. To the point of physical exhaustion hoping her body would simply give in and she'd be forced to some kind of dreamless slumber. But no matter how tired she felt, or how much she tried to exhaust herself. It was never enough to attain peace.

Vander had been asked to keep an eye on her while Laxus and Natsu guarded Alma. Apparently Dragon Slayers weren't the easiest souls to mess with and because of whatever was happening to Bickslow, the knock on effect was making her more and more unstable. After it had seemed like the visible symptoms of that madness potion had worn off, they'd hoped her demeanor would improve, but it hadn't. She was a fritzing wire. People were keeping their distance from her.

He knew his father was concerned that Jera would take her own life. Vander disagreed. She didn't seem the type to die quietly out of sight. He knew if she was to leave the world it would probably be while holding a blade in a field of corpses. He wasn't concerned with that. What did bother him was just how much sleep deprivation and grief had effected her. She was a mess in need of a good nights rest. It was especially troubling considering she'd insisted on helping them. Not something reliably done, not with only a handful of hours sleep and a clouded mind.

He watched her till late in the evening. Saw her skip all the main meals. Witnessed her movement become sloppy. Her stances forced. The grip on the handle of her sword kept slipping with sweat and general weakness.

When she actually fell to her knees, Vander broke the shadows to intervene. What she was doing was going to cause more harm than good. Whatever she was hoping this would do for her, it wasn't.

She bent down to pick up her sword again and found his foot pinning the blade to the floor.

She left the blade where it was and backed up.

"Sending you to spy on me?" She rasped, breathlessly. Accusation in her eyes.

"They're worried you'll do something stupid," He smirked. Picking up her sword and seating himself on the corner of the small dusty corner table left down there with the scatterings of other disused furniture. He examined the weapon carefully. Atlan made good swords. Good armour, too. It seemed they were just constantly preparing for a war that never came.

"I'm not going to _kill_ myself. I'm not some elderly noble. My _family_ is dead. If _I_ die, it'll be avenging them," She said seriously. Vander could appreciate that. It was a sentiment he shared.

"And you really think you'll be able to do that after three days without sleep? You're already suffering with coordination problems. I wonder how long till you start hallucinating?" He laughed and threw the sword down to the floor. "You're fucking dead on your feet! And if you come with us tomorrow you'll just be _dead,_ dead," He growled. "I'd rather not join you, to be honest."

"I _can't_ fucking sleep! They gave me something..." she said flustered. "...but it just makes the _nightmares_ worse and when I wake up I can't stop _shaking,"_ She snarled at him. Throwing her other weapon at him. He side stepped the blade casually.

"Scarella could probably help you..." He started to say.

"Are you fucking _serious?"_ She put her hands on her hips. "Have you even _seen_ her today?" She said disbelievingly.

Vander _hadn't_ actually. He was actually taking great care to avoid her. Her suffering was directly stemming from his brothers and Vander didn't like to be so openly reminded of that fact. He'd have snuck into the Palace already to find him if the front gates hadn't been so thoroughly sealed. No visitors. No servants. Not guards. The events at the marketplace and docks must have sent the King into a paranoid frenzy because the only time the doors were getting opened in Josta, was to admit his father to the court. Until then, everything was on lockdown.

"No, why?" He answered, shrugging.

"She _bit_ the big one, Laxus, this morning," She admitted. "I... don't think recognized _them._ What are the chances she'll recognize me?" The woman sounded legitimately scared.

"You know she spent the last week running around convincing people you were alive? Didn't give a damn about the shit going on out there, just _you,"_ He pointed at her for emphasis. "You mean something to her. Don't ask me why, as far as I'm concerned you barely know each other, but you _are_ important to her," Vander reassured Jera.

"Well, we're now two attempted murders up on her better half, I think we might have moved passed caring about my wellbeing. I know her well enough to know that nothing means more to her than him. Even before he arrived...she was just...waiting for him," It pained her to think about it. Vander wasn't surprised she had _such_ trouble sleeping. She was dealing with a lot.

"Yeah, well, my brother sure picked a strange woman to fallnin love with," Vander muttered under his breath. But it wasn't so low that Jera didn't hear.

"You can't _pick_ the people you love. _Believe me_. I didn't _choose_ to love my father. Things would be easier if I'd _had_ a choice," She said brokenly. Pain turning to rage as she screamed out her hurt and frustrations. "He betrayed _everything_ my mother and brother died for. He _deserved_ to die...but he was my father and ...I- I _killed_ him. _He made me kill h_ _im!_ " She looked like she was going to cry but held the tears this time. Vander felt a pang in his chest. This could have very easily been him. If the first thing Arlo had of wanted was Arman Pradesh dead, this could have very easily have been Vander breaking, and there wouldn't have been a thing that he'd have been able to do about it. He'd undergone training to resist possession. Defy mind control. Protect and shield his thoughts. But Arlo Basta was the most powerful Seith to have ever walked the earth. The father of modern day Seith magic. Vander had been as helpless as a child. He quietly swore there would not be a second time.

Vander wasn't the comforting type, but he found himself hugging her regardless. Letting her collapse against him while he supported her weight. Offering a small sliver of solace.

"More than anything in the world, I just want to forget..." She whispered and the sound was muffled against his chest.

She was warm and vulnerable and when she wrapped her arms around him to return the gesture, he felt something, a pressure unloading from his shoulders. It wasn't simply her that perhaps was in need of comfort. He counted the hours he'd managed to find sleep in the last few days and it wasn't far behind her. He was suffering too.

He cupped her face and tilted her head back so he could look at her. Her eyes were so dark, in the low light they looked black, her hair had come partly undone from the knot she'd twisted it up into. She _was_ beautiful.

"I don't need magic to help with that," He kept his voice low. Purring to her. The words had no sooner come out of his mouth when he recognized the monumental mistake he was presently making. He'd expected her to rebuke him, push him away, laugh. Just another Boscan living up to the womanizing stereotype. She didn't, what she did do was kiss him. Hard. Pulling him in close. Her hands clutching his shirt almost desperately.

He felt like laughing. Alma's little prank had left him unable to become erect and had ruined a well thought out evening of fun, but it seemed like that magic had worn away, just like she said it would, because here he was responding in all the right places. Jera pulled back breathless. Dishevelled.

"Then _make_ me forget," She'd hooked a foot around his left ankle and when she turned, holding his shirt tightly, he was pulled off balance to the floor, where he found her suddenly straddling him.

"I've got this feeling ...we might be making a mistake here," He mumbled against her mouth between kisses, her hands had already found their way under his shirt.

She instantly stopped and pulled back.

"You're probably right. I'm good at making mistakes. They always seem to involve men, too," She replied embarrassed and suddenly very self conscious. She'd done it again, and again. Throwing herself at men she barely knew. Men she felt nothing for. This didn't look to be any exception.

Vander knew, _knew_ he'd probably regret this...but he knew it wouldn't be as much as he'd regret letting it slip by. He could already tell that Jera wasn't a typical Atlan woman. Alma had told a few stories that had made him laugh. Late for the arranged marriage her father had organized because she was too busy fucking one of the guests. It was a common theme from what he'd heard. Alma had timing. As much as Jera had absolutely none. But sex wasn't a commitment for her and he wasn't good at talking someone around their feelings. Words usually failed him or worse, outright fucking betrayed him. But if she was looking for a few hours where she didn't have to wallow in her grief, then this was something he could do. It didn't hurt matters that she was exactly his kind of attractive.

" _Fuck it._..I love mistakes," He laughed, pulling her down to him and quickly twisted her underneath, fumbling a little in his rush to remove the clothing between them.

Something ripped and Jera squealed, a tiny smile pulling at the corners of her lips. The first time he'd seen anything but a tight frown. It urged him on.

"Those are my only pants!" She said, halfheartedly as he removed them.

"You've got nice _regular_ sized thighs, we'll find you more clothes," He said taking a small jab at Alma, slipping the shirt up over her abdomen and chest and bringing his mouth to one of her breasts; scrapping teeth across a nipple and making her jerk away from the floor, pressing against him. Eagerly. Hungrily. Downright desperate for him.

He trailed fingertips on the inside of her thigh, drawing circles closer and closer to the throbbing heat between her legs.

"Still worried about your pants?" He teased, lifting his mouth away from her throat. She whined at the loss of contact.

"Do you _always_ talk this much during sex?" She stared up at him. "Cause I'm beginning to see why you can't keep a relationship," She fired back challengingly.

The next sound out of her mouth was a cry as he drove himself into her. Eyes closed he let out a breath, not realizing how much he'd missed being able to enjoy himself with a woman. Of course, if she hadn't have jumped him he'd have probably suggested a warm bed back in his room instead of the hard floor in a storage room, but then again, the evening wasn't done just yet.

He felt the world slip away while her there. Tangled in her, kissing, biting, thrusting, Vander brought her to a violent orgasm that left her panting; heaving for air. He barely gave her a breath before lifting her and positioning her on her knees. He massaged the flesh on her ass appreciatively, catching his breath. His eyes drank in the sight of her back, flexing and saturated in sweat. Long, torqued, toned muscle wrapped in unblemished skin greeted him and he felt his very being surge with need. Suddenly she wasn't the only one desperate for release.

"More?" Her voice was small and her eyes somewhat wide when she turned back to look at him, and the combination of the two made him want to laugh.

 _"Oh...definitely,"_ He smiled sliding into her again, reaching forward and taking a hold of her shoulders and pulling her as he snapped his hips forward. He took up a merciless rhythm as she cried out. He came before she could a second time, and he felt mildly disappointed with his performance overall. Days of stress and being deprived of his standard way of relieving it left him climaxing much sooner than he'd hoped; collapsing against her back, taking her to the floor with him in a sweaty heap.

She murmured something he recognized as Atlan but he wasn't fluent enough to decipher it, having only taken a few lessons before his fathers trip; a few basic phrases. He grinned at how boneless she'd become. How relaxed. He shared the sentiment. It wouldn't last long. The afterglow would fade quickly and the pain and grief would hit her just as hard. But he was sure he'd kept his promise. He pulled her against him; her skin was flushed and slick with sweat. He'd sworn he'd avoid Atlan women but he'd walked into this with his eyes open this time, her wants were his wants. Release. _Distraction._

"I should probably go get a shower and some sleep for tomorrow," He said but the woman was already unconscious in his arms. "Oh, c _ome on!_ I don't even know where your room is!" He said, keeping his voice quiet. He could wake her, but it would make this a little pointless. She was sleeping. If she wanted to help them, she needed to remain so at least for a few hours.

He stood and used the shadows to get back to his room where he set her in his bed and headed for a quick shower. He had distinct rules about _sleeping_ in bed with women. Sex was fine, but not anything else. The last thing he wanted was any kind of attachment. So when he was dry and dressed he took the small couch facing the balcony and let himself drift off.

His dreams were not pleasant; a side effect of such a violent possession. The nightmares saw him killing members of his family. His friends. Unable to stop as he spilled more and more blood. His father begged for mercy while he slit his throat.

Vander hadn't realised he'd been shouting until he was jolted awake, throat parched and voice raw, a form standing over him, hands on his shoulder. He reacted, pulling a blade out of the darkness and lunging from his resting spot. He missed stabbing Jera in the abdomen only because he was still slow with sleep and she was fast enough to force the blade to the side while he pinned her to the floor. He received a surprising crack to the face as she headbutted him; a blow that left him reeling, mouth bloody.

His dagger vanished and he was left huffing in nothing short of embarrassment as he scrambled back. He reminded himself that this had been a mistake, climbing to his feet and letting himself fall back onto the couch with a groan, rubbing his jaw. If she'd been one of the women working here, or anyone else, she might have found her guts decorating the floor. There were reasons he slept alone in bed.

"What the fuck were you doing? I could have killed you!" He found himself snapping at her.

"You were shouting in your sleep...and I could say the same thing to you," Was her acrid reply before she sucked in a shaky breath. The reaction was unintentional and her anger was misplaced. "I... didn't mean to startle you. The nightmares...are they because of the Seith magic?" She sat down beside him unconcerned with the fact that he'd lashed out moments ago.

"Yeah, the longer it has control, the worse it usually ends up," The aching in his jaw was becoming a painful throb and he realized she may have cracked bone. It was easy to see Alma had trained her.

Vander had been under his power for a few hours but Jera had been under it on and off for _days._ If it were up to him, she wouldn't be coming with them. Couple the trauma of that with the knowledge and memory of killing your own father and back in Bosco they'd take you off any kind of duty for the _year._ Jera had been freed just days ago. She was stronger than his father was giving her credit for.

He was about to say something else but Jera interrupted him.

"Could I use your shower? I -I don't know how to get back to my room from here," Vander pointed to the washroom. Knowing he'd probably need another one after her.

He glanced at the clock. It was four in the morning. Another four or five hours and they would be making their way into the Palace to retrieve Bickslow but they'd managed to get at least a few hours sleep.

The mission would have been exciting if he wasn't faced with the prospect of also smuggling in a nearly, _completely_ psychotic Alma. The only one of them the guards would try and arrest on sight alone. Jera no longer existed, considering they'd already apparently burned her a week ago. But Alma was recognizable. And unstable. And now prone to violence if someone so much as _looked_ at her.

It was Bickslow, they all knew it. Whatever they were doing to him, she was also there. Helping him. Healing him. And it was _destroying_ her. He was no Seith, but he was sure if he was and he could see her soul, it would be a terrible and fractured thing to behold. With every passing hour her magic got weaker and her mind deteriorated. Bickslow's totems were very much out of control in her care. Floating around the Embassy pestering the Atlans, terrifying the Boscans. Pappa had become downright aggressive, even going to far as to possess some of the guards weapons, forcing them on their owners.

And still she remained the only way to locate Bickslow once they got in. Arman and the others would meet with the King, while he infiltrated passed the wards, concealed in their shadows. In the Palace of the Atlan Kings there were anti magic wards, illusions, a maze of corridors. The thing built at the height of Royal paranoia. If you did manage to take the city, and that was a truly enormous 'if', it didn't necessarily guarantee you'd take the King.

Alma was the only one who'd be able to see through the illusions, navigate the maze and lead him straight to his brother. For the first time in his possibly short lived career as a government sanctioned dealer of silent deaths, he was going to need to prevent her from mutilating every human being they crossed.

It would be a miracle if he managed to convince her not to kill _him._

* * *

Notes

Huge thank you's to Desna and Weezel474 and Guest for all the support and the amazing reviews. For everyone following and supporting me! Thank you!


	20. Chapter 20

"WE NEED MORE SEDATIVE!" Laxus roared at the healer who fumbled with a bottle and dropping it, breaking the vial; a blueish white liquid splash across his hands, slicking his grip on Alma. He was literally sitting on her chest to keep her down as she screamed and thrashed and clawed at him. If her nails had of been a little longer he'd have been bleeding profusely. As it stood he was bruising like a peach. She threw a mean punch; she threw a _really_ fucking mean punch.

He couldn't help but clench his jaw just a little as red tears ran down her face while she wailed. She looked right through him, at something he couldn't see in the distance and cried out and Laxus knew that somewhere Bickslow was probably men during the same.

The healer handed him another vial and Natsu held her head while Laxus tipped the contents into her mouth. Her movements lost their frantic motions and the screaming stopped. She'd been cursing in Atlan. He was grateful he didn't speak a word of it.

She blinked owlishly at them. Only half aware of where she was, or what was happening. They had three hours before it wore off. It had started the night before; the episodes. She'd be doing something and collapse screaming. Laxus had once seen a bandit slip between two slowly moving boulders; crushed to death, millimeter by millimeter. He'd made a noise not unlike hers. Alma had screamed so much her throat bled; vocal cords damaged and healed and damaged again. The healers had found a sedative that worked, kept her calm and moderately lucid; they could have put her under but they'd be no closer to Bickslow. A part of Laxus also knew that if she weren't conscious his friend would suffer more. That made him complacent in what was happening to her. Whether consciously or not, he'd placed his friendship with Bickslow higher than a guildmate; he was more important to him than she was, and that was a gnawing in his gut he almost couldn't stand. What annoyed him was how no one dared call him up on it. No one suggested just knocking her out. They were _all_ cruel fucks, Laxus determined.

They drugged her and waited for it to pass. When it did she would curl up in a ball and shake violently. Completely intolerant of any kind of physical contact. Even their proximity was enough to cause her anxiety.

"She gonna last?" Vander asked. Already concerned with how much value she was going to be. He knew it was a callous sentiment, but the woman couldn't walk, which meant someone would need to carry her.

"She will!" Laxus punctuated the statement with a jarring smack to Alma's face making her yelp; more surprised than pained by the contact, but she finally focused on his features. Pale and breathing heavy. "We gotta go find Bix! Do you understand what I'm telling you?" He spoke slowly.

She nodded quickly and Laxus picked her up off the floor and slung her across one shoulder as she stiffened at the further handling.

Arman appeared on the stairs dressed in the traditional Boscan finery and tailored maroon suit that the Ambassadors were required to wear in the present of royalty. It looked overly rigid; like it had been stiffened with stone instead of starch, but it could have just been him. The man's face was an emotionless mask but his body language was telling of how tense he was.

Laxus looked to him, mind whirling.

"Gotta change the plan. She's not walking anywhere and we've got to assume Bickslow won't be able to either. Throw some attendants garbs on Jera, she can go with you and Natsu; Vander is going to need me with Bickslow," Laxus spoke hastily. They had minutes before the escort arrived. He directed the next question to Vander. "Think you can get me _and_ her in?"

Moving through shadows with passengers was tricky business on the best of days. It wasn't going to be easy.

"Don't see that we have a fucking choice," He growled back.

They were now going to be without anyone on the outside; anyone capable of helping if something went wrong. No one to send for help if this all went to hell or extract them through the sand if they needed a quick escape; the wall prevented entrance, but not exit. The original plan was for Jera to remain outside the palace with a communication lacrima, ready to get them out when they got Bickslow out onto the grounds.

In the foyer attendants were stripping her, pulling on an emblazoned tunic, fixing her hair and Natsu's deplorable posture till they looked, on the surface anyway, like average servants; it was chaotic, as everyone knew there was only moments before the palace guard arrived.

Visitors weren't permitted to carry weapons beyond the walls and there were protection wards to identify the use of magic along with barriers. Arman would be allowed an entourage, but no official looking armoured guards. Jera and Natsu both looked deceptively young, not all that threatening, which benefited him, because while it had been agreed that Laxus would accompany him as protection, _they_ would now have to take that responsibility.

Honestly, Arman didn't care who came with him; the man would have gone alone and sent them _all_ after his son if Laxus had of given him the chance.

The main doors began opening and Vander touched the Dragon Slayer's arm, disappearing with him into the darkness of his father's shadow, Alma still secured on one of his shoulders.

They could see the bronze armoured men lining the courtyard of the Embassy where a tall man in gold robes waited for Arman to approach.

"Your _Excellency!"_ He bowed low. Greeting Arman as only the Atlan officials seemed inclined to do.

"I am Met, and will be serving as the King's envoy for today. I trust the recent unrest hasn't caused you any unnecessary trouble?" He asked politely; undoubtedly already knowing just how much trouble it had caused. Arman was a hard man to fool. If he were a gambler, he'd have bet money on this envoy knowing precisely what he'd eaten for breakfast that morning. But they were pawns. Nothing more. All of them dressed and spoke the same way. Were given single identifying names. They were _disposable_ servants.

"I have had better...and _worse_ visits," Arman replied coolly after a thoughtful pause. He wanted nothing more than to wipe the smile from the man's face but he kept it buried under ice. His expression a cold mask that would not be melted by the almost unbearable rage he felt inside.

"You and your attendants shall accompany me," He looked around the courtyard and shouted. "THE PALACE OF ATLA TAKES HIS EXCELLENCY, ARMAN PRADESH, AMBASSADOR TO THE GREAT KINGDOM OF BOSCO, UNDER ITS PROTECTION. ARE ANY IN CHALLENGE OF THIS?" His voice carried. It was a traditional invocation. Silence greeted him in reply and without any to rebuke it, the spell took effect; a glyph appearing on the palm of Arman's hand. A black line that circled an image very much like the ornate bronze helmets the guards wore; a dark eyed, predatory bird.

It meant that without an express order from the King himself, no _guard_ in Atla would lay a hand on him, in violence or _otherwise._ But that was only the guards. It protected him from _nothing_ else.

With the mark in place distinguishing him as a person of importance, Met led Arman out into the street where a gold carriage drawn by boro waited to take them to the palace. It was a slow process, as they moved only as fast as the guards in formation around them walked; their protectors for the trip. Though Arman doubted they would so much as hit a stone in the road on the journey.

The seconds ticked by like minutes and the minutes like hours. Stuck in the shadows, Vander held both Laxus and Alma; waiting for Arman to be admitted passed the outside protections where Vander could then make his way down to Bickslow. Into what were probably a series of dungeons or catacombs under the Palace.

Natsu and Jera walked outside the carriage, both watchful; on edge as they approached the main gates and the rune barrier there. An invisible magical wall as old as the city that circled the grounds and kept it secure from anyone looking to enter uninvited. Because only those with an invitation would be allowed to pass it.

The fact that this was where Arlo Basta had taken Bickslow told them that in the Palace of Josta, the Seith had been welcomed by the King of Atla himself. That alone he knew would be enough to sever, _permanently,_ any cooperative trades or agreement between the Kingdoms. If the Boscan people knew the man was still alive and in _Atla,_ the streets would have swarmed with Bosco's finest assassins along with regular people looking for vengeance. Retribution for their dead. Some measure of peace.

It troubled Arman to know that as thorough as his government could be concerning loose ends, they'd let a man as dangerous as Basta slip through their fingers. In the immortal words of Bosco's chief justice. "We don't _make_ mistakes!"

They all felt the energy charging their skin as they approached the rune wall. An almost malevolent feeling force that crept across them making the hairs on their bodies stand on end and the flesh ripple with goosebumps.

Arman took steady steps crossing it, afraid to look back as his shadow passed the barrier, but thankfully nothing happened; Vander's magic kept Laxus and Alma hidden and they all slipped through with no reaction whatsoever from the energy wall. Jera and Natsu were both stopped the guards checking their palms and recording the glyphs now transcribed there. The Atlan glyph for sand on hers, while instead something began growing up Natsu's arm under his tunic; he could feel the tingle as it crawled along his skin. One of the guards quite aggressively began pulling his shirt over his head, leaving him glaring and bare chested while the image of a red Dragon stared at them all; the tattoo climbing its way up to his shoulder around his guild mark. The fairy tail symbol thankfully obscured amid its menacingly coiled body and spread wings. There was a pause while the Atlan tried to work out what it meant. To them it looked much like a fire Wyvern, and they noted him down incorrectly as a beast master as a result.

There was no word for Dragon in Atlan. The creatures nothing more than myth to them, whereas the wyverns were very real, very dangerous.

Natsu looked like he was going to argue but Jera pinched him hard in the side. Silently advising him to shut up. They were finally admitted and Arman felt the need to shower and change shirt with the pure volume of nervous sweat gathering underneath the heavy material. But they were in, that was a _good_ start.

The great hall of Josta's Palace was lavish in a way even the Boscan royalty would have found nauseatingly over the top. The floors were a mixture of finely ground lacrima crystal liquefied to resemble glass, poured atop white granite. At midday, the lacrima from the great spire adorning the roof, released the power stored there, and the energy from the sun would be funneled down through the structure and out into the city; traveling along these lacrima conduits.

The rooms built with these lacrima channels became _blindingly_ bright, almost too bright to see. Arman had no doubt that this little detail could probably be weaponized; a curiosity of an ancient Palace that more than likely had a darker purpose. Somewhere in the structure there was probably a switch or lever that would incinerate them, or burn them, or otherwise enact some offensive spell designed to destroy any and all intruders.

As beautiful as many of the features were, he reminded himself who it was that had built them all. Things of beauty in this Kingdom were rarely harmless. This was _Atla;_ they wouldn't bother incapacitating when they could kill.

Yet, it was still breathtaking; _gaudy,_ but breathtaking.

When they reached the entrance to the throne room, Jera and Natsu were directed to remain outside. Natsu managed a quiet word in his ear to tell him the room beyond was soundproofed but Arman already figured it would be. Honestly, most royal courts usually _were,_ but it also meant he would be on his own for this meeting. They wouldn't know if this went wrong.

He sucked in a steadying breath, reminding himself why he was doing this. To Arman Pradesh, it no longer mattered what happened to him, once his sons lived. To hell with Bosco, to hell with Atla, they were all that mattered to him right now.

He had no idea when Vander left him, or in what direction he travelled but he knew by the time he was brought into the throne room that he had to have left at some point earlier in their walk.

Arman knew this because Vander would have started killing people. Without question he knew this, because standing at the bottom of the steps to the throne, Arlo Basta was leaning rather nonchalantly against a pillar, flanked by a priest in blood red robes, his prayer beads were alternating spheres of gold and lacrima crystal, a chain so long they passed his waist.

Arman stood stunned. Stock still in absolute shock. He suspected that Arlo might be involved at a high level, but he hadn't known just how high.

"What is this?" He glanced to the empty throne where the King of Atla should have been seated.

The priest with Arlo apoke up. He had a leathered and burned face, framed with long, white, thinning hair. To Arman's eyes he more resembled a corpse that had been left in the sun for far too long; a dried out, sinister looking husk of a human being.

"The King has been ailing for some time and unfortunately the Prince did not survive the soldiers trials. It has fallen on the temple..." He spared a quick smile at Arlo. _"...and_ its advisors, to maintain peace and order in the Kingdom," He said.

And suddenly so much made sense. The decree that no boy of age would be exempt from the horrors of training...it had been a successful attempt to kill the Prince. Leave the throne of Atla without a legitimate successor. With a Seith, they could make the King do anything. _Including_ signing what would essentially be his own sons death warrant. The temple then ready to step in as the heads of state.

 _"Devil!"_ Arman snarled. "Do you not know who this man is?" He bit out at the priest, rage churning in his gut. "Bosco will not tolerate this!"

Arlo took a few shuffled steps closer to him. Close enough for the Ambassador to see the purple glaze over his eyes, knowing that he would not be leaving this room under his own power.

 _"Arman,"_ He started to say, and it made the man's skin crawl to be addressed so informally, so intimately by the Seith. A man he hated more than anything or anyone else in existence. "Just who exactly do you think _sent_ me?" Arlo replied with a smile and a cocked brow. The priest at his side turned sharply to Arlo.

"Be careful what you say!" He ground out, but Arlo looked very much like he would roll his eyes. The priests needn't have worried.

"He'll remember only what I allow," He fired back to the priest before facing Arman again. "What, did you think I took the brand off my own face, _walked_ out of my cell only to be carried by a flock of blue _sparrows_ all the way to Atla?" He laughed at him.

The words came like a cold slap to the face. Rocking the foundation of almost everything Arman believed. His son, an innocent child had had to leave his country in shame and exile, never able to return to his family through no real fault of his own, while a _mass murderer_ was let live, let _go free_...and he was now expected to believe that that was his own g _overnment's_ will?

"Why?"

 _"Control!"_ He rasped _._ "When the priests brought the thick skulled Prince to see the soul eater, she just wasn't able to bring him under their influence like the others. With his father so ill, they were faced with the prospect of losing _everything_ to an independent King that utterly despised them," He smiled softly, remembering something. "So... Bosco sent me here to help the Deacon take _official_ control of the Kingdom... and _end_ the line of Kings. It was the temple after all that made the last King sign the trade agreement with Bosco to begin with. A rather profitable agreement for your government, and make no mistake, one they are willing to kill to protect," He laughed at Arman's expression. "I can't speak for his predecessor, but _this_ King would have probably severed all pacts with Bosco out of spite alone, if he had the choice."

Arman stepped forward. "You're lying!" He bit out in a sudden flash of anger. "And the affliction in the streets? The last Ambassador's murder? Do you really expect me to believe my own government were complicit in that? I'm a personal friend to the Boscan _King,_ my family has, _still,_ serves with the Boscan Knights...are you trying to tell me that they would have sent me here if this was all their idea to begin with? That my families lives would matter so little?"

Arlo shrugged.

"Boscan politics aren't my concern. I'm sure the Royal family don't muddy their hands in every avenue of government," He huffed indignantly. "Your son Vander is a testament to just how _underhanded_ the other side of Boscan rule can be. I merely seized an opportunity, because, and believe me when I say I haven't forgotten what was done to my kind, when I'm finished here, I'm going to take the last of the soul eater venom and the first place I'll start dropping it will be _right_ over the Boscan royal palace," He said with a thoroughly satisfied smirk.

"A soul eater?" Arman asked having now heard the term a few times.

"You might know it as a soul hag. They had an affinity for appearing as old women. The priests of Atla have had one in _their_ possession for hundreds of years, and they've made sure every King has been in _hers,"_

"And what about my son?"

But Arlo turned away from him, refusing to answer. The old priest stepped forward. His smile left Arman unsettled.

"The venom Arlo has made will help cleanse the streets of the foreign _vermin_ that have been overrunning it for decades," The old priest answered, smiling wide, maddeningly so; those small scale, controlled attacks were to empty the city of the majority of natives. Only they would be able to simply pick themselves up and leave, going out into the desert for them was not the death sentence it would have been to other non nationals. "But we've pushed her to the brink of death in its manufacturing, and starved as she is, she's of no use to us. Fortunately for us, your son's soul is ideal, it will sustain her in a way the others can't. Perhaps for decades," He said it as though it should be taken as a source of pride, but all Arman felt was horror, yet even that source of dread was met with a flickering of hope. He was alive. Arman focused his thoughts on that.

"And Alma?" He spoke out, finding his voice again.

"Is in competition with a starving rival, one that happens to be thousands of years old and the size of a small house. She can effect nothing more than a delay, believe me, it'll sever the link between them eventually. You should be hopeful she survives the process, that's the only thing that isn't certain."

Then there was nothing but a sensation of falling as Arman's eyes glazed over. His soul no longer his own, no longer troubled by where he was or what he was doing there, he turned and left the sealed chamber, beckoning the others unknowingly in, where they would suffer the same fate.

* * *

When he emerged from the shadows Vander almost lost consciousness with the relief he felt. Laxus fell beside him, vomiting onto the stone slate floor, while Alma was sent sprawling.

He'd slipped under the door to a locked storage room two floors below the main hall and deposited them while it was quiet. Propping himself against the nearest wall he closed his eyes, waiting for the room to stop spinning. In all his years, he'd never expended that kind of magic before. It left him weak. Dizzy. His arms and legs felt like lead.

Laxus didn't fair any better. Travelling like that for a regular person was undoubtedly going to be a rough experience, for a Dragon Slayer, it was probably the worst thirty minutes of the man's life.

"The bloodhound?" Vander asked Laxus.

 _"Yeah,_ she's alive, too _,"_ Was his pained reply between retches before the Dragon Slayer rolled onto his back miserably; eyes closed and groaning. He could hear her heart beat and while her breathing was shallow it was still there. After a brief moments rest he pushed himself to his knees and reached for Alma, rolling her over to check her he found she was unconscious.

"Wake up!" He shook her but there wasn't so much as a flutter that might have indicated she was aware of being shaken. "There goes our guide," Laxus made it to his feet and offered Vander a hand." Well, this has gone to hell pretty quickly," He half laughed.

"Don't particularly find a disaster like this all that fuckin' funny," Vander bit back.

"It's a Fairy Tail thing, trust me, you get real used to things going to hell at the _worst_ possible moments," It was amusing how Vander was still looking at him like he was genuinely insane. "Hey, if it all went to plan, _then_ I'd be worried," Laxus laughed.

"How the hell do you people survive as a guild?"

"Impossible...to kill," A voice wheezed from the floor. "Where...am I?"

Laxus breathed a sigh of relief. Awake, mostly coherent. Things looked to be back on track. The Dragon Slayer sat Alma up and put a canteen of water to her lips.

"Underneath the Palace. Going after Bix, remember?" He said, hoping she did. That all this hadn't messed with her memory.

"I remember..." She frowned. "I think I _bit_ you..." She murmured.

 _"Yeah...yesterday!"_ He said with a smile looking over her head at Vander who was trying not to laugh. She seemed to be recovering quickly, more aware than had been in days. "How're you feeling?"

 _"Murderous...but_ he's not far. It's easier to reach him," She said and Laxus's tipped her over his shoulder, turning so she could face the door out into the hall.

"So long, dignity," She muttered under her breath, making Laxus smile despite himself.

"Left or right?" He asked.

"Left, then first right," She said. He closed his eyes briefly in relief, heading first out the door while Vander guarded the rear. He'd hear anyone coming and Vander could hopefully hide them before they were spotted. Though it wouldn't be for long.

They continued on for about sixty yards before Alma patted Laxus on the back.

"You missed the turn," She said indignantly and Laxus stopped dead in his tracks turning round. A completely straight, uninterrupted wall greeted him on the right. No doors. No cracks. Nothing to indicate any turn or passage. She point her finger at it, the digit wobbled frustratedly.

Vander followed her direction and put his palm against stone, only to find it passed straight through, the illusion breaking and revealing a similar adjacent passage.

"She can see through the magic?" Vander said clumsily before he ruffled her hair and planted a kiss on the crown of his head.

"Yes. I also see you and Jera got well acquainted," She came back with a dry, barking laugh. "See, I _knew_ you'd like her."

Vander's memory shot back to the conversation they'd had on the balcony where she told him he needed a good woman, right before her drunk self drifted off with a devious sort of smirk. Realizing now, _exactly_ who she was thinking of.

Laxus snorted.

"Way to challenge the Boscan stereotypes," He snickered. Vander had now slept with a substantial percentage of the Embassy's female staff.

"Hey, it was just sex. A quick fuck for stress relief purposes," He said, casually brushing it off with a wave of his hand.

" _All lies_ ," Alma breathed with a smile. "You like her. And maybe if she's a man of her own, she'll stop trying to kill mine." An awkward silence descended between them all. No one wanted to start an argument with her about how very much not responsible for anything, Jera truly was. But Alma was half dead, drunk on enough sedative to floor a Vulcan. It wasn't worth it. After the quiet pause, Alma continued with the directions.

"There's a staircase at the end, down one flight and second left," She said immediately stiffening. "It's... starting again," Her face suddenly pained. Laxus set her down against the wall while Vander helped to pin her arms and legs down as she seized in their grip, screaming again. Laxus jammed the side of his hand in her mouth to muffle it and stop her breaking teeth when she bit down, which she did, hard enough to break the skin but he knew that this could continue for a while, which was time they didn't have. Laxus closed his eyes tight and hoped Bickslow would forgive him before he pulled back his hand and punched her in the face. Knocking her out. Hoping when she woke up again, the worst had passed.

As soon as she was out, they heard it, Bickslow's screams suddenly kicking off in her place. The sound now echoing down the passage ways and halls around them.

"What are they doing to him?" Vander found the courage to finally ask; ask the question they'd all been avoiding since he was taken.

"I don't think we want to know," Laxus picked her back up and started running, following Bickslow's screams, the sound leading them to him.

The trail ended at a small doorway. Unremarkable in almost every way but for the fact it was now all that was between them and Bickslow. Vander didn't need to be told to conceal himself, the mage disappearing into the darkness of Laxus's shadow as the Dragon Slayer put his hand against it and pushed carefully.

The screaming immediately ceased and his ears picked up the sound of breathless panting beyond. Stepping into the room he found himself face to face with the hag, held in chains at its center. It was about twenty feet tall and the stuff of nightmares. Under its enormous pustule covered body it sat on backward facing knees; black glassy eyes bored through them with visible hunger. Laxus with no arms to speak of, instead there were long finger like protrusions from its sides, disturbingly spiderlike; they held a weak and pale looking Bickslow to its mouth. As they entered the room the hag slowly pulled back, releasing its grip on him. Her enormous, circular pit of a mouth filled with teeth was red with blood from where they'd been driven into his chest.

The creatures head swivelled, locking Laxus with an intense stare but when he set Alma down, he found that she wasn't looking at him at all, but her.

"Finalllly!" A voice spoke out from mouth hidden amidst a sea of needle like teeth and Laxus almost gagged with the rancid smell of the hag's breath. It spoke again in Atlan but he didn't recognize the words; was barely listening anyway, instead he was busy examining the room. The hag was stationary, trapped in a circle of runes he knew well from traveling with Freed; runes designed for teleportation to fixed points. With the only entrance in this room consisting of a single small door that this thing wouldn't have a hope in red hell of fitting through, he expected that was how they moved it. If it was feeding on the suffering of the temples sacrifices, then it was likely every temple had a room like this one, and they could transport it between them as necessary.

A long spear like tentacle shot out at terrifying speed toward Laxus and struck the invisible barrier. It dropped an unconscious Bickslow to the ground by its feet.

"Give me my friend back, and I won't kill you!" Laxus snarled, his fist crackling with energy. Enough of a charge in the air that even a beast this size bristled at the threat. The hag picked Bickslow up again.

"Then you would also killll _him...tooooo._ But its poooointless, little magic exists in the circle; to keep me _weeeak!"_ It spat, mockingly. Laxus hadn't honestly expected it to be capable of that kind of intelligence.

"It would be a far quicker way to die than what you're trying to do to him," The Dragon Slayer felt his voice break, there were tears threatening to fall. Its black eye turned again to Alma and it cocked what passed as its head in thought.

"Then...a traade? Give me _her..."_ The tongue slipped out slower this time, pushing against the barrier closest to Alma's unconscious form. "...and I will give you _him,"_ The voice whispered calmly. Reasonably. Laxus felt the pull. Very similar to Alma's magic. The urge, compulsion to comply with the hag's offer, but no matter what, he couldn't bring himself to accept one life over another. And if Alma was in the monsters grip, who would there be to save her from the same fate.

The hag plucked him up like a doll and waved Bickslow in front of the barrier before letting his body partially drift across it, indicating to Laxus that while _it_ was trapped, _they_ could move freely. It was close enough that Laxus could have touched him if he'd just stretched out his hand.

"I'm not going to kill one friend to save the life of another!" Laxus resolved. That wasn't the Fairy Tail way. "That's not a choice I can make. _He wouldn't want me to._ " He said brokenly.

"I...knoooow," The hag purred. "I address the other one. The shadow. _He_ has already chosen!" The monster hissed, the sound coming out like laughter as Laxus turned, snarling. His timing was just fast enough to watch Vander disappear with an arm around a still unconscious Alma, only to reappear within the circle. The creature cackled like an old woman. Its tongue stuck out and pierced her thigh, but Vander stalled it, putting a dark blade to Alma's throat.

"You get nothing but a corpse unless you release him," Vander bit out, voice shaking. The man felt a guilt unlike anything he'd ever experienced, cut through him; Bickslow would _never_ forgive him. _Never._ He wouldn't deserve it, either. This was unforgivably the worst thing he could do to his brother, and he knew it.

The hag _threw_ Bickslow at him; the weight knocking Vander off her body and sending both brothers tumbling out of the circle and out of its reach where Laxus was on top of Vander in an instant. His fist around his throat.

"HAVE YOU ANY FUCKING IDEA WHAT YOU'VE DONE?" He roared at him, now inches from Vander's face, baring his teeth as though he'd literally tear out the man's throat. Vander could have sunk into shadow; escaped. But he deserved this. Somewhere inside, he hoped Laxus killed him so he didn't have to face his brother having done what he did.

"He's...my brother," Vander muttered ashamedly; his voice was small. Laxus lost all the strength in his hands and fell back away from him. He looked to Bickslow, the wounds on his chest had healed, even as the hag was dragging Alma back to her mouth, to almost certain agonizing death, she was still protecting him.

Laxus stood, unwilling to just watch this happen without fighting. Vander followed him; preparing a sword in his hands and his armour. Neither were worthy of ever looking Bickslow in the eye again if they didn't fight. But the creature didn't pull her into its maw like it did with the Seith. It left her resting on the ground, its enormous body hovering over her, swaying from side to side.

 _"Wake..._ sisssster..." They all froze to hear it speak again. Laxus had expected the hag to begin with her what it had attempted with Bickslow, but it didn't. It touched her softly, tracing her face with its sharp tongue. Alma's eyes fluttered as she came around. She should have reacted in some way to finding herself in this position but she was still; calm. They felt it, the hag's magic, despite the runes cancelling the majority out, the hag still had immense power, enough to keep her complacent. Limp in its grasp. Like a doll with all their strings cut.

"I am near my end, sister..." It admitted, and from the pustules on its back and from its black eyes, they watched a red substance leak out like tears; the venom that had caused so much death and pain. "...and I _SUFFFFER!"_ It cried out, wailing miserably; the sound so loud the walls shook. Bickslow rolled onto his side and jerked himself to his knees. He opened his mouth to speak but his voice was too strained to make a sound. Too raw from screaming.

"Bix?" Laxus was at his back, an arm around his shoulder; it was lucky he had been holding him because when Bickslow tried to dart forward towards Alma, he was able to hold him back.

"Give me _peace..."_ It punctuated the word by driving its spear like tongue into the ground beside her head. Alma seemed to jolt to awareness, before a scream echoed so loudly they were forced to cover their ears; yet it was the creature that made the sound, not her. Its body suddenly collapsing under its own great weight, almost very close to crushing her. They watched in disgust as its skin shrivelled, peeling back over the fast decaying flesh underneath. The venom seeping from its eyes, the very pores on its body, it all dried up in moments. And then it began turning to dust, time catching up to it finally. Its long sought after end, finally arriving.

Bickslow tore free of Laxus's stunned grasp and scrambled on his hands and knees over to her. Pulling her up into his arms. He leveled a glare at his brother that could have turned milk and Vander shrank back from his gaze, looking anywhere but back at him. Unable to meet his eyes.

The Seith tried to speak but his voice was still useless. He stroked her cheek with a thumb and she groaned, pained, while he let his entire body sag in relief. He hurt in ways he didn't think he could express even if he'd had the voice to speak in those moments. Too weak to stand as he was, he satisfied himself pulling her into his lap and holding her.

"...owwww..." The small pained exclamation made Bickslow weep with joy. He kissed her a little roughly, and she laughed, coughing with the pain. "Not... so hard...I...feel a little delicate" She wheezed.

"What just happened?" Laxus asked. Unable to fully comprehend how they'd found themselves free and clear. How things had gone from dire to this was an astounding turn.

"It wanted to die...no...it wanted _nothingness,"_ She hissed through clenched teeth. Because in all of this, nothing had suffered quite like it had.

Bickslow found his voice returning. He looked up at Laxus, a pained eye flickering with a silent warning to Vander.

"How're we getting out of here, boss?" The seith rasped, trying to stand while holding her weight but unable to support the both of them. Laxus hauled him to his feet while Vander reached for Alma, but the seith manoeuvred her out of reach. "You put your hands on her again and I'll do _more_ than make sure you never fuck another woman!" Bickslow bit out and Vander recoiled as though struck; his brother was furious.

 _"Bix,_ I can't carry both of you. So either he takes her, or you leave her behind. Its your choice!" Laxus reprimanded him. They hadn't gone to all this trouble just for it all to come apart now. "Whatever you pick, we need to move, _now!"_

Bickslow looked away and Vander took Alma from his grip. The woman didn't bat an eye at him. She genuinely didn't know what had happened in the minutes previous, but Bickslow had. Had seen just how little value his brother put on her life.

As they left the chamber a shuddering explosion rocked the building above, sending dust and dirt streaming down on their heads. It sounded like someone had dropped a bomb on the palace.

Laxus laughted dryly at Vander and Bickslow.

"Sounds like someone pissed Natsu off pretty bad upstairs, how about we go see what idiot thought _that_ would work out for them?"

The instant he said it, Vander perked up. People were going to die, and he was absolutely fine with being the one wielding the blade this time. Maybe someone would even get in a shot and he wouldn't need to deal with the fact his brother now hated him.

But he doubted he was quite that lucky.

* * *

Notes

I need give an enormous thank you to everyone reviewing. The next chapter will be a little time coming, that's why this one is coming out as quick as it is. Lot of stuff happening in RL. But have no fear, this is a story that will have an ending! Thank you all for the continued support.


	21. Chapter 21

Notes

Managed to update quicker but at the price of splitting this chapter. It's getting pretty busy and I think its a good place to stop before it gets out of control and turns into a total beast.

I can't express how much I love all the comments and the interest in the story so far. We're nearing the end and its been a hell of a trip. I just want to say I appreciate the love and support!

* * *

No matter what he did, no matter how much magic he used on him, the Dragon Slayer couldn't be brought down. His soul could _not_ be properly possessed. In his decades of study and practice that was something he'd honestly never experienced before and it aggravated him to no end. Even after restraining Natsu with magic cancelling cuffs it was not only still impossible, it was downright dangerous to try and possess him.

A priest handed Arlo a handkerchief so he could stem the nose bleed that had started during his last attempt. Natsu was still moving, now pulling against the chains they'd had to fix to the floor to hold him. At the back of the throne room an enormous stained glass window lit the expansive chamber in a rainbow of coloured light.

"You'll give up...before I will," Natsu said with a smug smile. The longer this went on, the more control he clawed back, and the weaker Arlo became. A fact that was vexing the Deacon as much as the Seith. The priest was inspecting the barrels of hag venom; preparing for transport to the airship still docked at the port. At the base of the throne, men were busying themselves constructing a teleportation ring; the runes when activated would deposit the barrels onto the airship. The vessel had already been set up to receive them.

"You should save your _strength_ for more important concerns. _This..."_ he gestured to the three captives. Arman was currently balancing on one foot touching his nose while sweat ran down his head; the man looked like he'd been in the same position for some time and his limbs were shaking. Jera was dancing up and down the steps to the throne. Moving with unheard music; twisting and turning with exceptional grace. "...this is an exercise in futility...in _ego!"_ The Deacon huffed in exasperation. "As we stand here, the palace guards are killing any of my acolytes that attempt to leave our temples. Your magic would be best suited elsewhere, I assure you," He rasped.

The Deacon wasn't wrong, but years in a cell hadn't changed Arlo Basta quite that much. He still enjoyed toying with people just because he could. The Deacon grabbed Jera by the arm and threw her to the ground, noting how Arlo frowned as the woman fell several steps only to land painfully on her knees.

"I can understand why you would keep the Boscan, even the pink haired fool, the foreigners have _value,_ leverage, but there is a _city_ of whores if that's what you want with her. This one is a _risk...and you are a fool to keep her alive,"_ The priest snarled.

"I hate that word. _Whore._ In my country we treat our women with _respect._ Adoration," He looked down at Jera and smiled sweetly. "And you treat them like _dogs,"_ He spat back before leaning down to offer her a hand up. Glazed, uncaring eyes, looked back unseeing, while she took his hand and stood. "I keep her alive because I _like_ Jera Ferod. Ferocious. Unashamed. And an _exquisite_ dancer," He said full of admiration.

"You had her murder her own _father_ simply to test her will... it's not wise to let her live. Unlike the hag, you _do_ require sleep," They were all so paranoid, but Arlo had come to recognize after so long that Atla was a treacherous place.

"You needn't concern yourself with my well being. I'm rather an excellent judge of people; she may not _forgive_ me, but eventually she'll stop resisting. She'll do what I say without magic," He looked the Deacon dead in the eye. "I can be _very_ persuasive," He chuckled.

"Also a _hypocrite._ For all the grief you've given me over the years for keeping slaves, don't be fooled, not all of them wear chains that can be seen. We priests know this _all_ too well," Arlo was glaring at him, clearly unhappy with the comparison the Deacon was drawing between them. The priest laughed at him. "You are a _Seith_ mage. Your very _magic_ is slavery!"

Around the barrels that the priests were stacking, the now finished teleportation circle waited to take the contents to the airship that had been commandeered in the disruption following the attack at the docks. The Deacon turned and stalked off unhappily, leaving the Seith in the throne room; leaving Arlo alone with his new toys.

Natsu pulled at his chains again as the Seith sucked in a breath and tried to use his magic once more. He reached into Natsu's soul, much further than before, and felt the stirring of something terrible buried there. Something blistering and dark. He dropped to one knee in pain; grimacing. Agony lancing through him, forcing him to withdraw quickly. Natsu was baring teeth just a little too long to be human in a terrifyingly satisfied smile.

"Perhaps...the old priest had a point," Arlo muttered, sucking in a breath. "I fear we might need to postpone our testing till another more convenient time," His magic was a power over humans...but he was beginning to realize that Dragon Slayers _weren't_ entirely human. Certainly not enough for his magic to be effective.

"Awwww...but I like watching you sweat like an onion," Natsu snickered.

The Seith growled, his temper flaring as pulled out a knife.

"You'd do well to watch what you say, because if living in Atla has taught me anything, it's that the _dead_ rarely cause as many problems as the living," He pressed the edge of the blade to Natsu's throat.

"I made a promise to my kid, I'd come back," The Dragon Slayer said, resolute. Seemingly unafraid.

"And I promised you all that if Bickslow came with me, he wouldn't be harmed..." Arlo mused. "Life is full of broken promises; full of lies," He pressed the blade to Natsu's throat and a single trickle of blood seeped from the wound before he found a searingly hot fist wrapped painfully around the arm holding the knife; Natsu grinned, slowly forcing the edge away from his throat.

Arlo Basta glanced down to find that Natsu's cuffs had fallen to the ground, a sandstone key still sitting in the lock. He turned, glaring hatefully at Jera, more than almost anything, he disliked being proven wrong. On top of that, by the people he despised.

In his effort to defeat the Dragon, the sand mage had recovered enough of herself to use her magic, and as misfortune would have it, she was as skilled a lock pick as she was a dancer.

The flame exploded from Natsu's grip without warning and Arlo screamed; his hand blackened beyond recognition in the scant few seconds it took to pry it free. He fell backwards clutching his now useless arm to his chest; watching as fire crawled up the Dragon Slayer's skin. The air around him suddenly became too hot to bear, to even breathe and he was forced to put several more feet between them just to draw breath.

The Seith's eyes flared brightly as he extended his power again but Natsu was now completely beyond his reach. His soul was searing to touch. His magic was useless against it.

"ACTIVATE THE TRANSPORT!" Arlo shouted, but the priests had stalled, balking at the man on fire walking towards them; like something straight out of their holy texts. Arlo felt his voice shaking with panic as he screamed again, the priests finally coming round to his orders; activating the spell.

The barrels disappeared just seconds before a ball of white hot flame sailed through the space they once occupied and struck the stone of the far wall of the chamber, exploding in a violent shower of stone and debris, rocking the very foundations of the palace and splitting the throne in half.

Arlo managed to make it to his feet and staggered toward the circle of runes only to disappear to the airship a moment later.

Arman collapsed to his knees panting breathlessly, groaning as Jera came round with a rage filled scream. Now that Arlo had left, his magic had gone with him and they were finally free.

"I FUCKING _HATE_ THAT GUY!" She bellowed, but there was no time to dwell as the return fire started; the stunned priests finally getting over their shock long enough to begin to retaliate; hurling balls of flame back at them. The palace walls trembled, and stone fell from the ceiling as Natsu stepped in front of the others, swallowing the fire and roaring with such strength that the force blasted a sizeable hole through the great hall and out into the adjacent courtyard. The damage to the palace was becoming extensive when what was left of the temple acolytes decided to give up, and the priests ran.

But there was a price to be paid for causing that kind of commotion and before they got far, thd Kings guard were on them like flies; pouring in through the hole in the throne room wall. Drawn by the explosions. Having seen the flames and the scattering of fire priests, they descended on them, cutting them down without mercy; assuming they were the ones at fault, having already been put on guard by their commander. He'd made it known that they were to watch the temple priests closely. That any and all resistance was to be met with swift and lethal retaliation. Well, there was now a two storey hole in the palace and a lot of fire priests where they shouldn't be.

Someone shouted in Atlan before a number of guards raced from the great hall out in the corridors. In his numbed, exhausted state, Arman only heard the word 'Deacon' in what was being shouted back and forth.

 _"What the fuck is going on here?"_

The commander of the guard appeared, pointing a dripping sword at the three of them. His armour was covered in blood. None of it his own. He paused taking them in. Jera was supporting the Ambassador to Bosco who could barely stand, there were bruises and cuts on Natsu's wrists; fresh chain marks.

"Someone had better begin explaining," The guard commander growled.

"They just transported a shit tonne of that red mist onto the Boscan airship. They're gonna start dropping it on the city," Natsu said. He glanced at the ring of runes and found the circle broken with fallen rubble but otherwise undamaged. Unfortunately, he didn't know how much time they had. "You think you guys could clear the ring?" He pleaded. "We need to get on that ship and destroy it," He said.

The guard didn't bother responding to him, instead he turned to his men and began barking orders. To Natsu's relief, they threw down their swords and began clearing the stone away.

"Don't suppose you guys know how this thing works, either? Natsu asked, scratching his head. Silence answered him, the Commander cocked his head, it was almost comical with the helmet he wore. Natsu looked hopefully at Jera.

"How the hell would I know?" She said defensively.

"I do!"

And then there was Laxus as he came in from the hall outside the throne room, covered in dust and blinking awkwardly in the sunlight. Bickslow staggered at his side, an arm around the Dragon Slayer's neck for support while Vander appeared a moment later from the shadows with Alma in tow. The Seith looked rough but there wasn't so much as a scratch on Vander and Laxus.

"What'd we miss?" Vander said.

"Basta transported himself and the poison up onto the airship. We need to get up there and destroy it," Jera spoke up, her eyes locking to Alma who was still a little out of it. She watched as Vander lowered her mentor to her feet and took a step away. Shooting Bickslow a wary glance. The atmosphere between them could have been cut with a knife.

Natsu ignored the tension and smiled stupidly.

"Finally, something I'm actually good at. You _know,_ this isn't really going that badly," A hunk of stone broke away from the side of the gaping, monstrous hole in the palace and clattered to the ground, forcing a few guards to dodge. Everyone looked at Natsu in disbelief. He shrugged. _"What?_ We got 'em on the run!" He said, oblivious to the fact that he'd just blown out the side of the Palace of Josta. A building so old they didn't even have a record of who built it.

"If they drop that stuff, Natsu, this city is going to descend into the darkest levels of hell," Laxus knew that there were probably still hundreds of thousands of people remaining in the city. A lot of Atla natives and other Desierto citizens had left, but a sizeable number had chosen to stay. If Arlo was able to go through with this. The numbers of the dead would be insurmountable.

"Hey, the range on this thing isn't gonna be a problem. He's gonna have to fly closer to drop that stuff anyway, right? So, we teleport up there, we destroy the ship..." He started to say and Vander laughed interrupting him.

"And then we fall several hundred feet out of the sky to our deaths. If we don't blow ourselves up in the process," He deadpanned. "Yeah, great plan there."

Laxus sucked in a breath.

"That might be our only option. I feel like a fucking idiot here, but do any of you happen to know _how_ to pilot an airship?"

They looked at each other slowly and then a small hand was raised.

"Of course she does," He rumbled unhappily. "Does anyone other than the woman who's been awake for three days straight and is presently under _sedation,_ know how to pilot an airship?"

There were blank faces all round. And then all hell seemed to break loose again in the throne room, there were shouts and screams as guards began filing into the chamber. They were dragging priests. Men wailing, clawing at the stone as they were pulled by their ankles and robes. The guards lined them all up in a row, facing the broken, barren throne.

The left the Deacon for last, herding him ahead, he lowered himself to his knees without instruction, in front of the others. The commander of the guard pulled out his sword and pointed it at him; he spoke in Atlan and Jera translated for the others as the guard looked like he would come apart with rage. His hand was almost shaking.

"My ...men have found what you left of the King. _Dead_ in his chambers. His throat slit in his sleep left to _rot,"_ He said brokenly before his voice turned to anger. "The body is _weeks_ old."

There were hushed whispers among some of the guards and wide terrified looks from the priests. Many had simply thought the King possessed by the Seith. Very few knew the truth.

The Deacon, though, he remained silent; looking otherwise unconcerned with his position. He stared up at the King's commander and sneered.

"I am a servant at the temple of the dark fire. I am protected in this palace by old magic," He held up his hand, where a symbol rested on his palm; the mask of the guard. His laughter echoed in the total silence. "Not even the King's _death_ changes this protection," If the King had not rescinded it, the protection would still be in place, even now. The Deacon spread his hands in open challenge. "Besides..."

The Commander didn't allow him to continue speaking. He brought his sword up and struck him down; a single clean stroke that cut through the side of his neck and opened up his chest. Blood erupted out, staining the robes of the men behind him who gaped in wide-eyed horror, and confusion as the symbol on his hand faded.

Alma was almost shaking beside Bickslow, when she dropped to one knee she pulled him down with her by his ruined sleeve. Jera caught on and did the same. Arman barely needed any assistance beside gravity; as soon as she released him, he dropped like a stone, legs still too weak to support him. The commander of the guard turned to address the kneeling priests.

"The temple has had some power over the Kings of Atla, that is true _,"_ He said in common tongue, turning to look at the stunned, confused faces of the others. "...but my mother was a rather shrewd woman who felt it was best that my survival _not_ reach the ear of the court," He said calmly.

It was slow to dawn on some that the city Commander was in fact the long considered dead, Atlan Prince, but no normal guard would have cut through the protections the Deacon wore. Only the power of the King could have removed the mark at all. Arman looked confused, looking down at his palm, knowing then that the symbol he wore was undoubtedly fake. An illusion cast to keep up pretense of a ruling King. He wanted to laugh.

The Atlan guards forced the priests down onto their hands in prostration and then knelt themselves, placing the tip of their swords against the floor. Bowing in his presence. In the presence of their new King. Some of them knew him well. Trained with him. For the first time in hundreds of years, a King had actually earned the loyalty of the men under his command. The city Commander was well respected. He valued the lives of his subordinates. Treated the people fairly. Even when they'd met him at the docks he'd chosen to let a wanted individual leave without bloodshed, rather than risk the lives of his men on something he didn't believe was right...or winnable.

"My mother arranged for me to take command of the guard _precisely_ so I could see how the temple ran this Kingdom. So when the time came I would do better. I...think she should have ruled. She would have made an excellent King," He said, fondly remembering her. "But I have seen your rule. Seen the people controlled through fear..." He looked at Natsu, knowing _exactly_ what kind of magic he practiced. "...and _fire,"_ He said suspiciously _._

He put away his sword and took off his helmet. He was younger than most of the high ranking soldiers they'd seen but no less hardened looking, probably no older though than Vander. Tan, leathered skin, dark eyes and sporting a ragged scar on his face that disappeared into his hairline; he certainly didn't resemble any King they'd ever seen. He looked like all the soldiers had; a veteran of combat. The only difference being the red ring hanging from his nose, in place of the silver. Only royalty wore theirs red.

One of the priests on the floor began to beg forgiveness crawling forward towards the King's boots. He barely got a foot before the guard at his back rose and drove a sword straight through him; hard enough that the tip of the weapon cracked the stone; pinning him to the floor. Any other weapons should have shattered, but like their armour, it was all enchanted.

The others grew dead silent as the King locked eyes with each and every one of them.

"I will accept _no_ apologies. Your _crimes_ are not mine to forgive," The new King rasped. "I only want your oath of loyalty," The priests all began babbling endlessly. Swearing their devotion to the King. Some lay themselves on their stomachs at his feet, pledging themselves. Behind them, the guards were rising, raising their swords menacingly. Disturbingly they seemed to take some kind of pleasure in it, savouring the moments between. The King held up his hand to halt them.

"I accept your oaths," He said solemnly and then he let it drop, the blades of the guards falling with it; leaving the floor slick with blood as the priests were cut down in a single synchronized maneuver. A small smile seemed to pull at his mouth. _"Now,_ they can ask their _gods_ for forgiveness," He spat.

"Your grace..." Arman Pradesh began to speak but the new King silenced him with a pointed look.

"Yes, I am aware, _time_ is not on our side...but I have seen them launch those airships...as fast as they are in the sky, they are not so quick to leave the ground," He looked to Laxus. "You said you could activate this?" He looked at the rune on the floor.

"Absolutely," Laxus breathed.

 _"Good!"_

Laxus, Natsu, Jera and Vander joined the King and a handful of guard as they stepped into the circle. Laxus recited the basic incantation to activate it but despite a minor tingle that crept across their skin, making the hairs on their heads stand up, nothing happened, they remained as they were, in the throne room.

The Atlan King looked to Laxus for an explanation and the Dragon Slayer paled, knowing the only reason this wouldn't be working.

"They...must have destroyed the one on the other side," He muttered disparagingly. _"Fuck!"_

"You're a lightning Dragon Slayer, can you not just _zip_ on to it?" Natsu voiced out loud. The situation was now well on its way to becoming desperate. The docks weren't exactly close.

"Boscan airships are protected against lightning. So they don't get hit in storms," Arman answered softly. "Laxus would simply be repelled. Even his magic would be useless against it."

"So what? We're totally fucked?" Bickslow asked. He'd never felt so exhausted before and this was just a step more than he could deal with right now.

There was currently a Boscan airship preparing to leave the docks and obliterate the city...and no one had a way to board it. Or stop it. There was also Arlo's threat, that he would keep some for Bosco. Arman knew better than to doubt it.

"Wait, you guys are the most paranoid folks I've ever met and you're telling us you don't have _anything_ capable of taking that ship down?" Natsu sounded exasperated by the discussion. His tone was borderline rude and Arman balked.

"My hot headed friend, you might want to reconsider how you address the King of a country with a reputation for spontaneous executions," It was especially as relevant an observation considering they'd just watched a dozen unarmed, kneeling men be cut down in front of them. The throne room was a bloodbath; littered with bodies.

The King actually laughed.

"I'm going to appreciate the directness in this case, the situation calls for nothing short," He said. "And to answer your question, we _do,_ but it would take too much time to put in place."

"There are mages from every country _in_ this damn land, right here in the city, surely one of them practices teleportation magic, or _flight._ Something! Anything that could help us?" Vander bit out. "It takes about ten minutes to get an airship in the air. That's with an experienced crew. We _might_ still have time," He grit his teeth. Uncertain he liked feeling this powerless. They were almost out of options.

The words had barely tumbled passed his lips when one of the King's guards burst into the throne room, ripping his helmet off and casting it aside. It was difficult to rattle the soldiers in Atla, but he was very much shaken.

The King's face fell.

"Did I not order you to the docks to try and intercept the Boscan ship?"

"The airship was already airborne, Comman... _my King,"_ He corrected himself _. "_ They have begun their assault on the city _already._ The infected are spreading, more and more with every passing minute. Most of my men have fallen already to it," The man threw himself at the King's feet, accepting of whatever punishment he received for the failure.

 _"Then get up_. Go out into the street and bring any you find that haven't been infected into the palace...bring them passed the wards, save as many as you can," He barked and the man ran.

The King looked to the other guards in the chamber and they followed suit. The protection wards would protect the Palace of Josta, but not from hunger, and not from thirst once people began flooding inside its walls.

The ridiculous levels of protection they'd previous cursed, were now all that stood between them and total ruin. It was said the palace wards could repel an army. They were going to soon find out.


	22. Chapter 22

In the two hours since they'd started ushering people into the palace grounds, over ten thousand had passed in through the gates. The lucky ones, the ones closest to the palace, had had enough time and warning to grab supplies, but for many they barely made it to safety with their lives, the clothes on their backs; the lingering red mist stopping at the boundary walls and going no further, caught by the magical protections many had mocked as paranoid machinations of lunatic rulers. No one was laughing now. Boscan's from the Embassy kissed the earth underntheir feet when they realized that the poison could cross the front gates. The palace of Josta had now become a sanctuary filled to capacity with injured, terrified people.

Out on the streets was absolute carnage. The infected spread themselves quickly, killing not only those with resistance to the poison and those racing ahead of the mist, but each other, even themselves in some cases. It was Atla. Its people knew barbarity. But watching a man kneel in the dirt just beyond the barrier and open himself up with a knife so he could pull out his own organs had rendered even the soldiers pale and shaken. His eyes locked on theirs. He'd screamed and laughed and screamed some more and then died, a manic expression twisting his face.

The only boon was in the speed of it all; the fact that the infected didn't live long after exposure. The only hope the people had, and it was a dark one, was that soon there would be no one living outside those walls. No one infected at least. They all hoped that there were those who'd managed to stay hidden or found another shelter, but it was hard to fathom with the madness still screaming in dim, dying light.

There were hundreds of injured, many critical and despite the fact that she'd had no sleep and had been given a crude stamina potion like the rest of them, Alma was up and healing people. She barely had the strength to stand she was so drained, so people were brought to her. He wasn't entirely certain what had happened with the hag, but if he'd had to guess she'd taken its soul, or whatever passed as its soul. Buried it inside herself. He'd have expected some kind of temporary personality change but she seemed no different. He knew from experience that she would be volatile for some time so he was careful not to draw attention to it.

He wasn't fairing as well. Even though the physical wounds were gone he still felt pain. His arms and legs. His chest. Like invisible bruises scoring his body. Sleep, when he did doze off, brought nightmares he couldn't recall when finally waking. He'd come too, sweaty and trembling; a tightness in his chest that made breathing a chore.

An old woman had taken to helping them, sitting at Alma's side to wipe the blood from her face; an almost perpetual nose bleed, while Bickslow sat holding her hand, letting her drain his and his totems magic to bolster her own.

The old woman spoke with rather strong accent and used a dialect of Atlan that Bickslow had incredible difficulty with. He'd muddled a number of words quite badly, almost enough to start an argument until the woman, Savirn was her name, realised that the Boscan with his soft tongue and slow ear was utterly clueless and she may as well speak in the common vernacular. She laughed at his Boscan. The second time an Atlan had laughed at him while speaking what should have been his native tongue. But so long removed from home, it was clear he'd developed an odd accent himself. Bickslow was just lucky that like most Atlan she spoke several languages fluently because when she'd asked if he wanted food, to his utter shock, he'd heard something _completely, embarrassingly_ different. Alma laughed at his face. The first genuine laugh he'd heard from her in a while.

After Alma had healed the cuts on Savirn's hands, the old woman had stayed with them; fetching them supplies and water, even taking to cleaning and treating the non threatening injuries to spare Alma the exertion; coordinating with the other healers and doctors.

Bickslow had dozed off more than once and woken to find her putting a blanket over them as they'd slept together, sitting upright against a wall in the main hall, stealing precious minutes to sleep.

The others all had tasks. There simply weren't enough guards left in the palace walls to control that many people, and with tensions high and so many crowded together, fights and general crime were growing common. Laxus and Natsu had been drafted in to help keep the peace and settle disputes. The people had an almost intrinsic fear of Natsu, having been terrorized by the fire priests for so long, the sight of him alone was enough to halt most brawls.

The new King, and ex city commander was a man they'd come to find out was named Baros. A name his mother had given him when he was sent for the trials. A name he'd decided to keep, seeing nothing of the young prince he'd once been in his reflection these days.

Baros had opened the palace to the wounded. Opened the stores, the pantry, the chambers. Refugees occupied every room indoors while tents were pitched outside in the grounds for those who'd managed to escape mostly unharmed.

Bickslow must have fallen asleep again because when he woke it was to an argument. The old woman was pushing a man backward away from them. His arm was broken and he'd come to see if Alma could heal him, he'd tried to wake her but she was sleeping pretty heavily.

"What the fuck?" He bit out tiredly in Atlan, rubbing sleep from his eyes.

"My arm..." The man began to say and the old woman aggressively grabbed it, viciously squeezing, making him cry out and stagger back.

"I will cut it off if you do not leave. She needs rest," The woman said sternly; looking to Bickslow for his support.

"No ones cutting off arms...but yeah, _she's...well,_ she's..." He stammered, so tired even finding the words was a chore. "...even _if_ she woke up she might not be able to heal you. We need some sleep. Just a few hours...just a couple more and you'll be the first one we'll see," Bickslow offered diplomatically; when they'd passed out their magical reserves had been at approximately zero. The other healers could have seen to his arm but they were probably in a similar situation. Working around the clock. Exhausted.

To be honest, Bickslow was grateful that the woman was running interference for them. It was the only reason they were able to get more than five minutes respite.

The man scowled, but when he looked at Alma, who still hadn't woken up in amidst the argument, he must have realised the futility of pushing it because he left, and Bickslow collapsed, sliding down the wall. Tired beyond measure.

Savirn crouched down with some difficulty and put a blanket over them both smiling. For all folks back home would say about Atlan people, and he'd heard a great deal of insults, Bickslow had experienced as much kindness there as anywhere. They were a people who'd suffered atrocity after atrocity, but hadn't let it destroy them. They may have been hard, but their uncompromising nature also extended to their oaths. Their senses of loyalty and fairness. That they kept slaves to do their labour was a myth. A terrible, terrible falsehood.

"Thank you!" Bickslow said, wrapping an arm around Alma and pulling her close. The old woman had some form of healing magic, he could feel it. Old, subtle and soft, it had weakened over time. Possibly age or lack of practice, but it was there, and that was why he didn't move to stop her when she moved her hand along the front of Alma's sleeping form, a glow following her fingers, intensifying as it went. He felt a pleasant warmth on his skin where her fingers traced over the arm he had wrapped around Alma's torso.

Savirn withdrew her hand, almost excited. When she spoke she'd slipped back into her native tongue and Bickslow frowned, mishearing her entirely.

 _"What?"_

She huffed, frustratedly, before smiling again at the expression on his face

"I said 'it will be a _boy'_ you earless _dolt!"_

He still wasn't sure that he'd heard that correctly, despite the fact she'd said it in as plain a tongue as she could. Bickslow found himself shaking his head.

Savirn said some follow up words in Atlan he didn't completely understand. From the tone it sounded like she was cursing him, but he wasn't even sure the communication barrier had anything to do with the tricky dialect anymore; all of a sudden he found he'd lost the capacity to comprehend. Full stop. The only thing in his head was the thunderous thumping of his heart; presently occupied with cracking his ribcage open like a melon.

Savirn laughed at the look on his face and took his hand and set it against Alma's abdomen.

That got through to him okay and like a dam, a torrent of words started rushing out of him at speed.

"Oh, _oh, no_...she's _not_ pregnant..." He said to her, unable to keep the nervous tremor out of his voice. _"No_ babies. All the women in the guild take these yearly magical contraceptives..." He found himself unconvincingly explaining as his brain suddenly started cycling back to the thought that it had probably been a year or close to it since she officially joined the guild...and magical potion and Alma weren't exactly synonymous with effective. It suddenly occurred to him, they'd really only had sex twice. Of all the unfair, inconvenient times the universe had decided to take a piss on him, the middle of a disaster of this magnitude, was really, really the worst.

"You're wrong!" He deadpanned. Unwilling to accept anything beyond senility as the truth on this.

Savirn's eyebrows rose in quiet amusement.

"I am _never_ wrong," There was conviction in her tone that made him stammer.

He opened his mouth to speak and his voice cracked. "...can...can you be _sure?"_ The words were nothing more than a whisper. "Wait, how exactly can you even tell?"

"They called it mother's magic in my old tongue," The woman said thoughtfully. Trying to explain it in a way he'd understand. "I am _a...deliverer_ of children," She said, uncertain, rightly so, that he would be able to decipher her job description in Atlan. It was doubtful he knew the word and it didn't directly translate. It was an almost lost art. The woman was a _magical midwife_...and he was _screwed._

"...oh..." He said with quiet realization before the next thought hit him hard. Alma...would _not_ like being pregnant. Taking it easy was not in her vocabulary. And clothes? She'd need more. Babies were _expensive. Oh,_ his family were Boscan, everyone would be looking to touch her.

The first person that thought it a good idea to put their hands on any kind of baby bump were going to find fingers _broken._

"The first is always the hardest," The woman patted him on the shoulder. "But...her magic will serve her well. That she still carries after enduring so much is a very _good_ sign. She is a good woman," Savirn smiled but at the mention of all Alma had suffered, pain endured on his account, suddenly Bickslow found himself needing air. His head was spinning. This wasn't real, was it? It couldn't be. He was barely ready for a serious _relationship,_ definitely, most certainly not children.

He stood abruptly and practically ran down the corridors, leaving a perplexed old woman with a still sleeping Alma, darting around people like he was on an assault course and they were merely moving obstacles; their angry and surprised faces were just blurs. He was moving too fast to recognize Natsu or Laxus when they threw concerned looks his way and when he finally made it out into the open, his heart was hammering like a drum in his chest. Palms sweaty and hands still shaking like leaves.

The grounds were packed with people and Bickslow felt himself growing weak in the knees; it wasn't the breath of fresh air that he'd been hoping for as the smells from the camps reached him; the stench of staling food baking in the sun and made him nauseous. He'd have to tell her. Oh, that was a conversation that should have taken place another time.

"Here..." A Boscan woman in a still clean ambassadors residence uniform appeared to his side and offered him a cup, he took it with a visibly trembling hand while she poured him something that certainly wasn't water. "You look like you could use it. Didn't think it was possible to be so pale with this much _sun,"_ She laughed and Bickslow found himself smiling despite himself. Attractive women coming to his rescue in times of need with alcohol made it difficult to frown.

"Oh, I could use it and _so_ much more. You don't by any chance happen to have the barrel someplace on you?" He coughed out a harsh laugh. The so called wine burned on the way down; so strong it seemed to be bordering on straight spirits. But the warmth hitting his stomach quieted the voices screaming in his head. _"You..._ I've _seen_ you at the Embassy?" He said recognizing the woman's face somewhat.

"Yes, I help organize and coordinate official meetings for the Ambassadors. Your father would be the third I've served," She said with a hint of apprehension.

"Bit of a step down to go from that to serving people wine?" He laughed.

She sighed.

"I'd hardly call _this_ wine; the stuff could strip the scales off a Boro..." Bickslow smiled. He wasn't going to argue. It was fairly potent stuff alright."... but we all need a little distraction, and there's a lot of shaken people out there," She said.

"Distraction. I could absolutely do with distracting," He laughed miserably.

When she touched his arm he realised with a pitiable groan what kind of distraction she herself may have had in mind. Her interest was becoming pretty apparent, but when he looked into her soul he saw raw, almost overpowering grief. Pain. Hidden behind a practiced smile

He put his hand over hers.

"You know, normally I would have absolutely no qualms about spending time with you," He said apologetically. "but an old midwife just broke the news to me a few minutes ago that I've sired possible hellspawn with the maybe the single most dangerous individual in the city besides Natsu," He rasped and watched the woman's eyes widen.

" _Forgive me_! I... I meant no disrespect to either of you!" She blurted out, horrified.

"You don't have _anything_ to apologise for. Alma's right, I think my default mode is shameless fucking flirt," Bickslow laughed, patting her hand. "But, you know, if you see my brother Vander around, he's pretty _fond_ of distractions," Bickslow beamed warmly at her. Suddenly envious of Alma's magic, she'd have been able to ease this woman's pain.

"I'll bear that in mind...and _congratulations..."_ The woman said, having now gone rather quiet. Bickslow having killed the conversation in rather epic fashion.

"Have you seen my father by any chance?"

"He and the new King left with others to inspect the barrier. Checking for weaknesses, I believe," She said, somewhat red faced. It was rare to embarrass a Boscan, but she was beet red. "I'm Marila," She held out her hand and he took it with a small bow.

"Bickslow...but you probably already knew that?" He grinned at her but the return smile never reached her eyes. Bickslow sighed miserably. "Would you do me a favour and let my father know I really need to speak to him?"

She glared at him.

"You'd have me interrupt a discussion with the _King of Atla?_ " He winced and she glowered. "For a new father, you certainly have a _death wish_."

* * *

The bloody streets beyond the walls were deathly silent. The cries of the dying and infected had broken during the night and left only a stillness in its wake.

The deserted streets were littered with bodies in various states. Bitten and cut. Beaten and battered. These people killed each other; brutally and without feeling. In the distance, they could see the airship, still hanging over the city. Lingering like a silent threat while the mist still blew in the air beyond the walls. It would have been smart for Arlo Basta to have left quickly, but he lingered. Who knew why, but he _did,_ and from Arman's conversations with the King, it was clear that it concerned the new ruler of Atla greatly.

"It's possible that people were able to escape this," Arman offered some brief flash of hope but the King only snorted.

"That's too foolish a hope to have. Far too many _didn't,"_ He sad solemnly. "But the dead are dead...we can only make sure no one else joins them, not if we can help it," There was an edge to his voice. "I sent my men down into the cellars to look for the priests' monster but they found only ash in its cell. I...owe your sons my gratitude. There are few things that trouble my sleep anymore...but that creature lingers," He admitted. "I was fourteen when I was sent for training. Much older than the average...but as terrible as it was, I knew there were other, far worse horrors in the kingdom."

The Kings eyes grew suddenly hard.

"You _are_ aware that once this is over, regardless of how the dust settles...the Boscan Embassy _will_ be expelled for it's crimes? The agreements between our two peoples have been built on horrors and manipulation," He said. It wasn't a threat, or even a warning. He was giving Arman Pradesh advance notice. There had already been too many terrible surprises as of late.

Arman had been preparing himself for this. The situation at the minute was an unprecedented one. They were all survivors. The new King was the former city commander, which made him a pragmatic man; he wasn't going to be causing more problems until their immediate ones were solved.

"I suppose you expect me to try and talk you around? Convince you it's in this Kingdom's best interest not to cut ties with Bosco..." Arman clucked his tongue. "My people have helped ruin this land for their own profit. I...am personal friends with a number of members of our own royal family. For their sakes, I genuinely hope beyond hope that they had no knowledge of what was going on here," Arman admitted. This was something he couldn't possibly forgive.

"Someone had to make the decision to send you here. Perhaps they were hoping to stop this? Or maybe they didn't know..." the King regarded him carefully. "I have a general dislike of Boscans. Too much drinking, and gambling...far too many broken hearts," A smile pulled at his lips. "...it certainly kept me busy. You, however have a sense of duty that I can admire. You aren't cut from the same cloth as your predecessors," He added.

Arman bowed low at the complement. Atlan people did not offer them lightly or casually in passing. There was no doubt in its sincerity.

"Your _Grace...Ambassador_ Pradesh, forgive my intrusion but your son needs to speak with you urgently," Marila approached, bowing so low the pendant on her neck almost slipped over her head. She caught it quickly. Looking deeply uncomfortable. She knew enough about Atlan culture to know interrupting a discussion as serious as this one could be considered a grave insult.

"Sounds important. We can continue another time, Ambassador...on condition that I borrow your aid? I need someone to oversee and coordinate the supplies from the palace," The King asked, giving him permission to leave.

"Of course!" Arman replied.

Marila bowed as the King directed her away.

When the Ambassador found Bickslow he was pacing outside the main hall.

"Son?"

 _"Dad!"_

Bickslow stalked away gesturing for his father to follow, Arman close on his heel. He pulled his father into a quiet corridor.

"I'm beginning to think I need to enroll you in some refreshment etiquette classes, son, that was the _King_ you sent Marila to interrupt," Arman chastised him. Bickslow barely heard him.

"Yeah...so I accidentally knocked up my new girlfriend and might be on the verge of an actual heartattack here _..."_ He blurted out, unable to care in the least that he may have put himself on the bad side of a new King he knew nothing about.

There was a moment of confusion as a far away look passed over Arman's face while he tried to contemplate whether or not his son would be capable of joking at a time like this. It would be no stupider than getting a woman pregnant, _surely._ He studied his son's expression for the truth and almost bit his tongue clean through; his teeth clamped down on the appendage so hard the man actually tasted blood. He coughed, the air he'd suddenly drawn in having gone the wrong way, choking him. His heart genuinely missed a beat.

 _"What? Y_ ou're _sure?"_ He questioned, flustering. "I mean, _surely_ it's too early to tell? These things take _weeks_ before even a skilled healer can..." There was a panic in the Ambassadors voice he couldn't account for. _He_ wasn't expecting a child.

 _"Savirn!_ The little old lady following us? I asked around and apparently she's the fucking _royal midwife._ Her entire _magic_ is a branch of healing magic _specifically_ for expectant mothers. Knew straight away. Sniffed it out like a _bloodhound!"_

"I don't know what to tell you...you don't exactly seem thrilled by the prospect. How is she taking this?"

"She _doesn't know,"_ He hissed _._ "Gods, _dad,_ I'm too young to have kids. I wouldn't know responsibility if it bit me in the fucking ass," Bickslow was borderline hysterical.

Arman slapped him hard across the back of his head, hard enough that he stumbled. Arman was not a short, or frail man. The hit jolted Bickslow back to reality; his father was furious beyond words.

"You apparently need a refresher in common sense, too, _boy!_ What do you mean, _she doesn't know?_ Are you trying to say you told _me,_ before telling the _mother of the actual child in question_?" Arman growled out. "You forget that I've met her! Do you think she would want _me_ knowing before she does?"

Bickslow froze as that sunk in. His father slapped him in the head again for good measure before grabbing him around the back of the neck.

"Clearly living in Fiore has left you forgetting more than royal etiquette. My recommendation is to forget that we ever _had_ this conversation..." He shook him by the neck. "... and then after speaking with my future daughter in-law..." There was no jest in that. "...after _speaking_ with her, _then_ if she chooses to continue with the pregnancy, I will do you a _great_ favor and _pretend to be shocked,"_ The very prospect of grandchildren had Arman suddenly elated despite the situation, but he concealed it well.

 _"Chooses...to_ continue?" The words lodged in Bickslow's brain, rattling around there emptily.

His father narrowed his eyes.

 _"S_ he is very much a warrior at heart. Asking her to give up a substantial portion of her life and freedom for a child you weren't ready to have ten minutes ago, seems rather unfair," Arman bit out, mildly frustrated to be having this conversation with a son that he would have expected to know better.

Bickslow looked thoroughly conflicted. He didn't _want_ children...he was almost _entirely_ convinced he didn't want children. His father knew him better than almost anyone.

"Speak to _her,_ not _me,_ about what you want," His father added and Bickslow despite being a whirlwind of muddied feelings, knew he was talking sense.

"Okay, I promise to talk to her," Bickslow said. Knowing that he'd already blundered the situation almost passed the point of return. There was an uneasy stirring in his stomach that made him want to throw up. His father seemed to be taking this as well as could be expected.

"Good, and I'll expect absolute silence on this from you, too, Vander!" Arman said and Bickslow groaned, crying pitifully into his hands.

Because of _course_ his brother was guarding his father from the shadow, and had overheard the _entire discussion_ Bickslow had assumed was in private.

An incredibly pale Vander appeared, looking so suddenly stressed he seemed about ready to pass out. His normally calm demeanor in ruins. His skin clammy. The man hid his shaking hands tightly at his side.

"I can keep a secret...and...sorry about almost...you know...killing her those couple of times," He wheezed uncomfortably. The idea that he might have murdered not only a future sister, but nephew or niece as well left him rattled. Vander felt fortunate that the cards had fallen as they had so far.

"Just fuckin' great, we might as well tell Laxus and Natsu while we're at it..." Bickslow threw his hands up frustratingly.

 _"You! There you are!"_ The sound of Alma's voice made Bickslow just about die where he stood. His father's eyes widened as he looked uncomfortably, _beseechingly_ to Vander.

"One ambassador in need of an _immediate_ evacuation!" He rasped and a moment later Vander and him were gone; having disappeared into darkness.

Alma appeared a moment later, looking tired and concerned, having woken up alone to an evasive old woman that had laughed when she asked where Bickslow was, pointing her out of the main hall.

"Where'd you disappear off to?" She asked. Bickslow found his eyes drifting to her abdomen. As though there'd be something there to see.

"Just speaking with my father about the airship. It's still up there, floating at the city limits," The lie slipped out easier than it should have. Bickslow didn't necessarily have all that much practice but desperation and pure cowardice were good motivators it seemed.

Alma tipped her head forward to stare at him.

"It's just as easy to tell you're lying, shielding or no shielding," He couldn't work out if she found that amusing or frustrating, or maybe a mixture of both.

"I'm _not_ lying," He swallowed awkwardly, it was difficult when his throat was so dry.

" _Another one?_ " She asked with a laugh. Two lies back to back and now Bickslow was sweating. She waved it off with a hand. "Don't worry, I'm sure I'll find out eventually," She grinned deviously at him and fear pierced him like a bullet through his chest. He wasn't sure if it was the prospect of her finding out, or the idea that they'd both be parents but he was terrified. They weren't exactly ideal guardians. On top of that, he knew how expensive children got. Then there'd be where they'd live. Because they weren't currently living together; Alma was a creature that liked her space. Liked her solitude. They both did, really. If he asked her to marry him, she'd probably, possibly say yes, but if she thought for an instant that neither of them had a choice in it? Well, spiteful wasn't exactly one of her most attractive qualities, but it sat unmoveably at the right hand of stubbornness.

"I need to ask you a few questions and I don't want you to ask why, just give me your honest answer," He kept himself as calm as he could.

She glared at him, but said nothing.

"All the women in the guild...you all get those yearly contraceptives. Yours hasn't expired, has it?"

She looked deeply apprehensive all of sudden. That was never a good sign.

 _"No_ ...but, then again I didn't actually take one...Porylusica...she ... _told me I was infertile,"_ The words came out and if Bickslow felt shock before, if was nothing compared to what he felt now.

"That's _...fuck._ Were you even going to tell me?" The tone of the question made her physically flinch.

"Oh, the moment didn't really come up. Not exactly breakfast conversation. 'Who the fuck put raspberries in my cereal again, oh, and by the way I'll never have children'." She bit out a little hatefully.

 _"This_ is the kinda stuff you find away to discuss, Ali! I can't believe this," He was genuinely dumbfounded. Even knowing as he did that it wasn't actually true.

"You weren't interested in a serious relationship. You weren't interested in starting a family. You weren't even interested in _me_ at the time. Why would I feel the need to bring something like that up?"

Bickslow shook his head clear and tried to get back to the matter at hand.

"It- it doesn't matter that you never mentioned it...well, it does but..."

"You want the truth? I didn't mention it because it was never any of your business!" She prodded him hard in the chest. "You fucking _jackass!"_

He could absently feel how his own emotions were feeding her anger; the indignation, the defensiveness. It was starting a very unhappy loop. It wasn't just the good emotions she could share. The good feelings. He felt a knot growing in his stomach. Fear. Self loathing. Self doubt. None of it was his. He understood her feelings on the matter, despite how well she was able to hide them. He knew there was always that sliver of belief she held that she wasn't real; that she wasn't human.

"I'm fucking this up again..." He admitted putting his hands on her shoulders. "It doesn't matter...because it's not..." The chance to complete the sentence never came as she pushed him back hard enough in the chest to wind him momentarily, enough to break away and stalk off.

He thought about chasing her but he knew it would be pointless till everything calmed down. His state of mind effected hers. For good or bad, they were sensitive to each other. That wasn't always a good thing.

"You fucking idiot!" He said out loud to himself, pulling at his hair. A small voice piped up repeating 'idiot' over and over again and Bickslow saw Pappa's doll flying overhead. Pappa now taking a liking to leaving the container whenever he felt like it. Alma allowed him more freedoms under her watch and the totem had found himself falling somewhere between its two masters.

"If you say _anything..."_ He pointed a finger at the doll and glared. "You'll be possessing Laxus's _toilet_ for the foreseeable future," Bickslow's threatened.

A familiar voice called his name and Bickslow felt in that instant he might just be better off lying down and waiting for death.

"Yes! One of you! Fuck, you two are _hard_ to find," Jera appeared from behind him, huffing breathlessly.

"Can't say anyone's ever told me that before..." He sighed. "What can I screw up for you?"

Jera frowned, uncertain exactly what he meant with the jab at himself but she sucked in a breath, looking eagerly at Pappa as he flew aimlessly about.

"I think I've an idea how to get us all up to that airship!" She was smiling happily and Bickslow was grateful someone was.

He certainly wasn't.


	23. Chapter 23

Notes

An extra chapter just cause it's Desna's birthday today! :P Oh, also smutty content! Happy Birthday!

* * *

"We don't even know why he's still up there. He could be waiting to finish us off the moment we leave the Palace grounds. He could be waiting us out," Vander interjected and the King nodded in agreement.

"He _is_ hovering just outside the range of our defenses. It stands to reason that having spent as much time in the palace as he did, he knows our city as well as I do," He looked to the others. "Starvation and complacency are almost guaranteed if he continues to sit and do nothing. Eventually the people here will look for a way to escape the city in search of food and survivors, and we will be back where we started if that happens," The King was a soldier. He'd seen this before, seen the way killers might wait to watch their victims suffer. Die. He knew a number of reasons why Arlo might want to wait.

"So we take the fight to him. We can at least distract him long enough for people to get out of the city. The mages could take at least some out under the sand passed the mist," Laxus looked to Jera. _"But..._ your idea is fucking _lunacy..._ and you're hinging an awful lot on Bickslow and Ali having the kinda power something like that is gonna take..."

"It doesn't have to be their own power. This Palace has more overcharged lacrima than _anywhere_ else...surely you can use it?"

She'd heard about the white lacrima. How they'd channelled magic through it.

"Yeah...we could," Bickslow spoke up, glancing over at a downcast Alma but Laxus interrupted.

"It almost killed them both the last time," The lightning Dragon Slayer breathed, the memory of how Bickslow screamed was still painfully raw.

"But it won't be just the two of us this time..." Alma said optimistically. "I think it can be done," She looked them all squarely in the eye in turn. "There aren't any mages still living that will give us a better shot of taking down that ship. Do we really intend on doing nothing?"

"If the only other option is losing members of our guild..." Laxus snarled.

"Well, you don't get a say in what I do and don't do. So you can either help or step aside and let me try," She snapped back, irritably.

"Let _us_ try!" Bickslow breathed. A seith had caused all of this. He'd be damned if another sat by and did nothing. Alma would also go ahead alone with or without his help. That was as sure a death sentence as anything. That wasn't to say he wasn't worried. Even now there was a dark soul being slowly torn apart inside her. A soul hag's only true option for suicide was some other kind of soul eater. Bickslow didn't need a demonstration to know that as stable as she seemed, her magic might be a tad unpredictable until that was all out of her system. They really couldn't pull this off without him.

"Count me in!" Natsu blurted, flames puffing out of his nostrils as he grinned like the maniac he was.

They all looked to Laxus, waiting for him to continue arguing.

"Fuck it. _Fine,"_ He rubbed angrily at his temples. He was really out of other alternatives. "What's the timeline here; how long will it take to get something like this organized?"

Jera smirked. She'd already got the pieces in place before coming to them with her plan. It would have been a waste of breath if it hadn't been possible to start with.

"As long as it'll take to get those lacrima out of storage. I've already got six other sand mages sitting outside with nothing better to do...and they are _more_ than happy to lend a hand tearing that thing out of the sky," She ground out, a glint in her eyes told the rest that she'd have pulled it down with her bare hands if she could.

"So all we need are the lacrima," As city commander he would organize the guards for the stores in the palace. They would do a stock count at the end of every shift. He knew precisely what they had. "It will take some level of coordination to pull this off...are you sure you'll be able to do it. You're working with people you barely know," Baros spoke to her directly.

"I know them well enough..." Jera muttered, a hinting of pink stinging her cheeks.

Vander laughed out loud.

"You fucking _minx!"_ He rasped appreciatively.

"I'm going to pretend I have no idea what you're talking about," The King said innocently. He wasn't as devoid of a sense of humour as first thought. It was in there. Buried deep. Marila was still hovering near him. Looking tired and carrying a perpetual stack of paperwork. She tapped him rather ungracefully on the shoulder and handed him a document turning around so he could sign it against her back. The others were scrutinizing him. He'd made it clear to them all that ceremony could wait. He hadn't lived as royalty in a very long time and he quickly found he'd no taste for court posturing.

The King looked at Alma and something very close to a smile pulled at the corner of his lips.

"Your stay of execution..." King Baros laughed at the way her mouth formed a large 'O' in response. "An official pardon is all I will offer you at the minute," The King inclined his head ever so slightly.

"Happily accepted," Alma bowed low. She knew she'd been responsible for the death of a lot of his men over the months. He'd have been within his rights, within _reason_ to have her executed on sight.

"And to answer the question you haven't asked, I seek Arlo Basta's death a great deal more than yours," He smiled at her and Bickslow felt something almost akin to jealousy at the almost grin she sent back his way. Things were still terse between them, it may not have bothered him otherwise.

No sooner had the thought crossed his mind than her head snapped in his direction and she narrowed her eyes. There was one thing that they needed for this to work and it was the single thing everyone else almost seemed to consider a certainty; yet it was the one thing Bickslow wasn't sure of right now.

Alma and him were _not_ in a good place. She was still angry and proximity to her, to those feelings, made him anxious. He'd thought about children and still couldn't see a future where that would work with them. There were too many issues to work through. _They_ had problems. The _both_ of them. A baby was _not_ going to make that all magically better. Fuck it, she still didn't even _know._ That was something he was going to need to change.

He was really, desperately confused about how he felt about everything right now. All he knew was that Alma would be going through with this plan, and he wouldn't let her do that alone. She couldn't. She didn't have the ability to do it without him.

"I'd recommend you prepare yourself. I see a number of exhausted faces and that won't do. We'll leave before sunset. Use the darkness to get close enough to strike," The King said while turning to leave; Marila racing after him, scrolls and paper slipping from her arms cursing the speed he moved even while weighed down in so much armour. The woman was flustered and deeply unhappy. Errand runner to a King was a taxing job. She scowled mercilessly at his retreating back, growling and muttering under her breath as she struggled to keep up.

They all left the Kings study one after another; Vander ushering Jera and the others out efficiently with the promise of food. The Kings chambers were some of the only rooms truly private in the whole palace now and Vander knew if Bickslow wanted a private conversation, this would be one of the only suitable places. Alma didn't so much as move muscle to follow them. Standing there waiting for whatever it was Bickslow had been straining to say to her. She still read him like an open book.

"So you like the new King?" Were the first words out of his mouth when they were alone.

"He's the _King,"_ She said with a disbelieving smile. "And I thought jealousy was below you? Weren't you all excited about my flippant ideas on monogamous sex?" There was a smirk trying to pull at her lips. Teasing him was a good sign.

"I guess ...things changed when I wasn't looking..." He didn't tell her how in the moments she wasn't taking his pain away he thought he'd die from it. The only reason he still even had his very soul was _her._ She'd been his strength during all that. A marble foundation stone supporting him when his world had been reduced to sand and fire. When he reminded himself of just why he loved her, and of how much she loved him, his anxiety lessoned. And as that decreased, her anger faded with it; breaking that negative cycle.

"I wouldn't worry about Baros... it's not me he's interested in," She said with a lighter smile and Bickslow guffawed. The tension breaking somewhat.

"No fucking way!" He blurted out. _"Marila?"_

"He seems to like the organized ones. Pity he's got about as much experience with women as I have with water. He'll run her so ragged she won't even notice his interest," Alma was joking and that made Bickslow laugh.

She covered her eyes, groaning.

"No...I _hate_ that face..."

"What face?"

"The one that makes me forget I'm _angry_ at you," Her eyes narrowed and that just made him grin all the more. She peeked at him from between her fingers before letting her hands fall.

"Whatever you need to do, you should just get it over with," She sucked in a breath and squared her shoulders. "I'm not a child."

Bickslow wiped sweat from his brow with a serious look.

"You're acting like I'm gonna break up you or something..." He let out an awkward laugh that died in the following silence.

" _Aren't you?_ You come from a _huge_ family. You might not want children _now,_ but that might change," She rasped. " _I'_ _m_...I was _selfish,_ and you deserve more," It honestly sounded very much like an apology.

Bickslow grabbed her arm and pulled her closer practically snarling at the sentiment; she chose now to apologise for something, and something she had no control over to apologise _for._

"You have _no idea_ what the fuck I deserve. I doubt either of us would be doing so well if life gave us what we were actually _owed,"_ He released her, calming himself down. "It's better to get what you want sometimes," He said, his voice low, about to say that he didn't want children but they hadn't reached that part of the talk just yet and...he wasn't entirely sure anymore.

She didn't have anything to say to that so she stood there confused.

 _"Wait..._ so... _why_ are we fighting?" She murmured, perplexed.

"Cause I was trying...to tell you...you're _pregnant!"_ He finally sputtered. "And it sorta fucking snowballed..."

"I beg your _fucking pardon_?" She said after a moment of open mouthed shock. He shrugged. Wondering absently if he'd looked as flabbergasted. "That's some twisted joke, right?" Her expression was one of hurt.

"Yeah, cause finding out you've accidentally knocked up your new girlfriend because a two bit _hack_ of healer back home told her, yeah, hey don't worry about birth control... and I'm a fucking _idiot_ who thinks with his dick too much to _consider_ the idea of protection..." Bickslow felt the terror begin to rise up again but he quashed it. "... _hah fucking hah_!" He remarked bitterly.

Alma just stood there open mouthed.

"You... _aren't lying..."_ She was stunned. _"Why_ aren't you lying?"

"Truth kinda sucks doesn't it?"

"But ...I don't even really _like_ children. Infants are filthy, disgusting _parasites...puking machines!"_ Her face was going an adorable shade of red, her heart rate skyrocketing; Bickslow could see her break into a cold, shaky sweat.

Bickslow reached out and took her hand her in his, pulling her gently against him, thinking calm thoughts.

"I _know._ With their stupid snotty noses...and _baby poop_. Black tar like shitty diapers. I've seen...such _terrible_ things," He laughed into her hair holding her close, arms sliding down around her. There really must have been something wrong with him, because he wanted her more than anything else. More than being able to even visit his home. Wanted her there for it all. Life or death missions. Stargazing in a den of wild animals. Strong possibility of death on a daily basis. Most of all he wanted her to know how serious he was about this. What he'd be willing to _risk_ to be with her.

He already knew she was willing to wager her very sanity for him.

Bickslow knew he could have told Laxus to go fuck himself. He could have, but he didn't. He'd just stupidly expected her there waiting for him when he came home, as if she were some sort of pet that would patiently pine away for him. If the universe were really interested in giving him what he deserved it wouldn't be her. It wouldn't have been the woman who's heart he broke because he wasn't willing to admit he had feelings for her. It wouldn't have been anyone.

The truth of this entire adventure was that she left, only because she thought he didn't want her, and instead of wallowing in her heartbreak, she'd thrown herself into a war, maybe hoping to fight the feelings away, maybe she'd been hoping to die in some glorious battle, maybe it was just as simple as her looking to find a purpose, far away from the place she'd been hurt. Under it all, she was still uncertain, still doubting herself at every turn. She was as much a human as any he'd met.

"I don't particularly _wasn't_ children, but I'm going to be here regardless. It's up to you," He whispered. It was clear she hadn't thought that far ahead; still trying to wrap her mind around the concept of pregnancy at all.

In her quiet contemplation, Bickslow eyed the old ornate writing desk deviously. Alma pulled back away from him sensing the sudden change.

"Oh, no, no, _no._ That's what got us in this mess to begin with," She whined, but he put his hand on the back of her head and leaned down, brushing her forehead with his before kissing her.

He keened against her lips, it was intoxicating just being able to lose himself in something other than pain and nightmares, in the anxiety he now found himself constantly battling. The hag hadn't just left her mark on Alma. He bore his fair shares of that as well, he knew. But he had this. He had her. He was trying not to dwell on the torture he'd endured.

"What, you worried I'll knock you up?" Bickslow teased her and she balked at him. Unable to fathom how he could joke at a time like this.

"How can you even _laugh_ about that? And _no,_ but this is the King's study!" She breathed.

"You're all about new experiences...I don't think you'll have one like this again!" He kissed her once more, harder than before, backing her up against a bookshelf before turning and pinning her against the edge of the desk he'd been eying. "This helps," He purred against her lips. _"Believe_ me..."

"You...need better ways to deal with stress," Her voice was growing hoarse; breathless between each kiss. "You ...may have a problem," She mumbled.

"My only problem at the minute is that I'm _not inside you_ ," He growled against her throat as she arched her neck, giving him more access. He pulled at her shirt, freeing it from the waistband of the pants she was wearing, loosening his own.

"One problem at a time then..." She found herself muttering before he slipped the material down off her hips and worked them to the floor, gliding his hands along her bare legs before hoisting her up and perching her on the edge of the table.

"I love you..." He punctuated the sentiment by thrusting against her softly, careful not to penetrate. Grinding against her until she began bucking her hips to his, in want. Demanding more.

"...I love you, _tooo."_

She cried out when he firmly grabbed her, fingers digging into the flesh of her hips, and drove into her, using one hand then and pushing her flat against the desk. She let out a squeak of surprise as his pace instantly became almost too much to handle, rendering her speechless. Capable of nothing more than broken gasps and screams. Desperate and hungry he couldn't hold back, couldn't think. He could feel her skin when he wasn't even touching it, could sense the cool wood against her back, the edge of the table biting into her ass.

When they both let go, when they gave in, their magic flared outward like a wave that he was barely even aware of, completely unable to control. Amid the din, books and scrolls rattled on the shelves. The furniture creaking and groaning. Their magic was made immediately, _violently_ tangible. Raw power. Without form. Without direction. A veritable storm.

Unwilling to try to reign it in. Lost in it all. There was a thrill that they could be caught made it that much better; and that was one of _his_ kinks.

With hands gripping hard enough to be painful he set a punishing rhythm, the table under them sliding noisily across the floor. She couldn't speak; could do nothing more than cry out, uncaring that anyone could hear that they were presently defiling the private study of the King. Items on the desk tumbled to the floor. Black ink spilling on her, transferring to him. Dark hand prints lined his arms and chest and neck. Both of them marked. Enough that it would be impossible to hide.

He found himself finishing without warning. A surge so sudden he almost collapsed on her. Lungs aching for air. It felt like he'd been holding his breath for minutes at a time.

"Marry...me," He rasped. Eyes closed so he couldn't even see her reaction. Almost afraid to.

"I'd only say yes right now," She was laughing. "Ask me when I'm able to walk again and not covered in..." She looked down at herself. Her skin and clothes were bathed in it. Bickslow was covered in it too. "I really hope this ink washes off...oh..." They were both looking around now. The room was utterly destroyed. Wood and carpet was still smoking where it looked like it had been struck by lightning. Books and scrolls were quite literally everywhere.

"What the fuck just happened in here?" Bickslow let out an appreciative whistle. "Was...that us?" He asked timidly, already knowing the answer.

"We're going to be _executed when they find this!"_ Alma halfheartedly slapped at his chest with a frown. "Look what your penis gets us into! Random pregnancies. I don't even know if there's law yet for _this,_ but there's probably going to be one really soon," She rasped.

"Destruction of royal property? Vandalism? Sordid vandalism?...oooh...I _like_ sordid vandalism!" Bickslow grinned. Too satisfied with himself to care.

They pulled on their clothes as best they could and used magic to avoid as many as they people as possible on their escape. They split up so they could wash without too many tongues wagging. Like the Embassy, the natural underground springs ran here too. At the very least, there was water to wash with.

"You look like you got into a fight with a squid," Laxus laughed at him when he found him washing up at a basin a half an hour later. Trying to be sly about it.

"Yeah, something like that," Bickslow replied with an embarrassed grin. When it was discovered what they'd done to the study, there was going to be all hell to pay.

Laxus started laughing, startling a very anxious Bickslow.

"Boss?"

"You've a nice inky hand print on your ass that you missed!" The Dragon Slayer chortled.

Bickslow twisted to see it frowning that he'd missed one but secretly delighted that even when dry, the ink came out pretty well.

 _"Thanks."_

"So, I take it things are still going well?"

"Other than knocking her up...yeah..."

Laxus coughed, surprise evident on his face.

"I beg your fucking pardon..." Bickslow resisted the urge to laugh at that. Alma had exactly the same response."...and there appears to be silence where I would expect laughter and the words 'just kidding'. Are you fucking _serious?"_

Bickslow's sigh morphed into a groan.

"Fuck, does anything _normal_ happen to you? Man, Bix, you're fucking _ridiculous,"_ He couldn't even reprimand him without laughing at the absurdity of it all. "I wouldn't have pictured you as the baby raising kind," Laxus said wiping tears out of his eyes. The image of Bickslow holding a soiled nappy at arms reach and weeping made him almost choke with barely surprised hysterical laughter.

"I'm really not...but we have time...I guess to decide what we wanna do. I don't know how well she's taking it," Bickslow admitted. They hadn't really gone too in depth about feelings or plans on the subject. She needed time to process it all. Like he'd had.

"Did the handprint sex happen before or after?" Laxus asked with a cocked brow.

"After," Bickslow smiled distantly.

"Then I think she's probably doing alright," The Dragon Slayer picked up a stained shirt, examining it. "How the fuck did you wind up covered in so much of this stuff?"

"Had sex on a desk..." Bickslow said and Laxus sputtered.

"You fucking _didn't!"_

"Yeah... man, the room is trashed. If anyone asks, fire priests or bandits. Fuck, Boss, if you love me even a bit and anyone asks, _lie,_ and make it _good,"_ Bickslow laughed at the look of horror on Laxus's face.

"You...have _many_ _issues_ my friend!"

* * *

When they gathered outside that evening they found a hoard of people waiting. Angry people. They had the privilege of having lost nothing so far in all this, but these were people who'd experienced horrors. Seen their children, and partners, their friends and family die in terror. The sanctity of their homes, their safety, stolen from them. News had already spread about the responsible parties and the Boscan's were now starting to feel less than welcome. It became apparent that the King placing his trust in a Boscan woman to organize the camps had been a genius stroke on his part. There was no way to know what prejudice an Atlan might carry for the non natives currently taking refugee in the palace, and it also told people that the King did not hold those same prejudices. Knowing that their new King would not support violence kept the anger from simmering beyond their capacity to control.

But in such a crowded place, the news of retaliation spread like wildfire. Previously crushed people were suddenly excited.

Jera and some others gathered at the gates and knelt together in the dirt. They gripped hands like children and closed their eyes.

It started like a small earthquake; a light tremor underfoot that gradually grew to such an extent that the gates shook, the palace itself having had more than its fair share of damage practically started coming apart at the seems.

And the people watched them rise from the ground out in the darkening streets. Statues. Images of The Atlan women warriors of old, conjured from Jera's mind. Standing like enormous sentinels in the streets. They were at least six stories high...and there were _five_ of them.

People cheered. Not even knowing why as the statues stood immobile while the sand mages expelled enormous energy compacting their limbs into stone and creating workable joints. While they themselves would not be able to do more than clumsily move limbs at a time, these creations were designed to be mobile.

Then there was Atla's best kept secret. The crystal mage. The secret art that helped construct the lacrima conduits. The mage with the power to change and alter the stones they mined. Utilize them for various purposes. The family that had learned how to liquefy them, mold them into all manner of forms. Manipulate it like nothing more than glass.

Into the chests of these statues they placed enormous lacrima harnessed from the spire atop the palace. The stones glowing brightly. Like suns burning where their hearts would be.

And the the final piece were five rowdy souls in a jar that for the first time in decades beyond remembering, were about to be given forms to rival nothing else. Bodies that would carry soldiers and mages through the darkness, shielded by night and Vander's shadow, all the way up to that airship to tear it down.

Bickslow hadn't summoned them yet but no sooner had the first lacrima gone into the first statue than it was moving on its own. Flexing arms and joints excitedly, shifting weight from foot to foot. There was something terrifying about its vacant expression when it turned to look at them all. A collective murmur of fear rippled like water through the crowd as it stumbled getting used to its new form.

"Pappa?" Alma queried. She could feel it well enough to already know which one of them it was, but they also needed to know that the mostly out of control soul would be able to understand them. Be able to follow commands.

"Hello," A voice like a foghorn bellowed from thin air it seemed. Glass rattled at the sound.

"Indoor voice, Pappa!" Bickslow said with a laugh and comically the statue covered its mouth, posture slouching sheepishly. It wasn't lost on either of them that Pappa was now speaking with its own words. No longer just repeating the words of its master.

Bickslow looked to Alma grinning like a maniac. They both felt it, the power feeding back to them from the lacrima imbued in the statues. His babies were helping to complete a magical circuit. He called the others and fell to one knee with the outpouring of magic that rushed through him as they possessed the other four stone warriors. He hadn't realized she was gripping his hand until Alma pulled him to his feet.

The ground shook when they moved, causing people to teeter and fall; the thunderous steps rattled peoples teeth.

"Weapons test?" Bickslow glanced Alma's way with a hopeful glance.

"Sure!" She looked to Pappa and pointed to an abandoned blood stained stall. The statue raised its right hand, fingers splayed and a burst of blue light exploded forth. The air felt almost like it had ignited. Blinding, almost unbearable to be that close to it. The blast hit the stall and continued, moving through the building behind it and continuing deep into the ground in an eruption of rock and stone. Rubble and wood.

There was an almost unearthly silence as people watched the display. Awestruck. Bickslow felt lightheaded in the aftermath and he saw Alma clutch her chest, pained. He knew they wouldn't be attempting many of those. The volume of magic it required practically seared his insides.

"And they can get us up to that airship?" They heard the King rasp.

"Sure," Bickslow laughed and the five stone giants all turned to face them before they started rising from the ground, as though made of nothing. It was cautious at first. Slow. A little hesitant. Curiously, some of them seemed to list and dip, awkward and unsure of their sudden size shift and the newer heavier form. They weren't accustomed to having access to the type of power either. And then they started moving faster...and laughing. The sound was hollow. Somewhat malevolent.

"Bix, exactly how sure are we your little friends _aren't_ actually evil?" Laxus was now concerned for a whole other set of reasons. They were once darkened souls, at the minute, they _weren't_ radiating goodness.

The idea seemed to be working. Terrifyingly well if truth be told. But Laxus was well aware how addictive power was. How it corrupted; Bickslow had proven himself trustworthy in his use of Seith magic, but this was pushing it. His babies were drawing energy from the lacrima, and where they would normally pull from him, he was now capable of pulling from them. The sandstone warriors were big and brutal enough to carry a host of mages up to the ship. He also doubted, that as juiced as both of them were, that Arlo would be able to possess them, but he was painfully aware that they were only human, and as such, they weren't invulnerable. Not to injury. Not to darkness.

He punched Bickslow in the shoulder when he didn't respond.

"About seventy percent..." The Seith said after a moments deliberate pause and a wild looking grin. His eyes Laxus noted were glowing. So were Alma's. The same shade of blueish green. Their magic was getting muddled together in the link. Something just a scarily large step above a unison raid.

Alma laughed out loud, chortling like a lunatic, all the while staring at the airship in the distance with a dark glint in her eyes.

"This is going to be _fun!"_


	24. Chapter 24

Notes

Huge thank you's to reviewers and readers both here and on Tumblr. Your support means everything to me. The comments and messages literally keep me writing. I'm going through a difficult house move at the minute with a moderately insane landlord, so you guys getting some enjoyment out of this is the greatest feeling in the world!

Thank you! Thank you guys so much.

There's only a handful of chapters left and then I'm planning a lengthy prologue.

* * *

Bickslow wouldn't say it out loud for fear of startling anyone but his babies were growing increasingly more difficult to control. Alma's influence was too mild; she asked, whereas he now ordered and the five of them responded with little acts of rebellion that he managed to play off as deliberate, while he hid his core deep worry that he was on the verge of losing control over them. He could feel Alma in the link and underneath her calm composure, she was concerned as well, knowing that the loss of control was as much her doing as anything. While Bickslow had learned a little about using her magic, his was still a foreign concept to her and it showed.

Peppe dropped suddenly to one knee and drove a fist into the earth before withdrawing the hand and flexing the fingers, examining the way they moved. The tiny threadlike cracks fissuring in the stone.

People must have thought that Bickslow and Alma were testing the strength and composition of the statues; seeing what they could do but the truth was legitimately terrifying, Peppe did that alone. Lost between Alma and his control, falling into a middling ground like Pappa; a new level of self awareness that Bickslow wouldn't have thought possible given just how long it had been since these souls had bodies. They were acting on their own. In Pappa's case, acting out. It may have seemed like an accident to most of the onlookers but when Pappa had destroyed that stall, the soul had known just how much power was getting pushed into the blast. The fact that the strike had taken out the building and carved a crater in the adjacent street had been entirely deliberate.

"I know you treat these guys with kid gloves, but you're really gonna need to help me out here..." Bickslow muttered quietly to Alma, trying to keep his voice out of earshot of the others.

"I'm _trying,"_ She replied with a hiss. It was true. His power was one of sharp, brute force. Hers wasn't. It was difficult to grasp how he did what he did without harming them. Which was something she didn't want to do and knew she easily could. Bickslow knew why she treated them differently.

"Stop thinking of them as kids. They aren't... haven't been in a very, very long time," As if to prove how grave the situation was becoming, Pappa reared up, shoving an off balance Puppu into Peppe. A thunderous noise started rising. Like an engine as the statue growled. For the first time, Bickslow was witnessing them fighting amongst themselves.

Murmurs and shouts were ringing out behind them all as people started to panic realizing that this was no longer a show; no longer a display. Bickslow heard Laxus tell someone not to touch her, and he knew they were talking about Alma whose nose was bleeding again. A few seconds after he noticed hers he tasted blood on his own lips, there was discord in the link and it was impossible to force order without her help. The power he was fighting, trying to reign them in, burned him; like fire in his veins.

"ENOUGH!" Alma screamed out and silence fell as the fighting and shoving ceased. "You're killing us!" She said plainly.

"Sorry."

"Didn't mean to."

"Didn't know."

"This is fun!"

"I don't like this body!"

They were all speaking at once but they'd immediately stopped fighting.

Bickslow breathed a sigh of relief. She still hadn't exactly given an order, she hadn't employed any magic at all, but she'd clearly known they wouldn't continue if they actually thought they were putting his life in danger.

The statue that Pappa had chosen approached and climbed down onto it's knees to bring it's face closer to them.

"Too big to hug. Too big to hide," Pappa said, expressionless face turning to Alma, clearly unhappy with its new body. Her face turned bright red and she almost choked on her tongue; it was possibly one of the most adorable things he'd ever witnessed.

"No more fighting," She muttered and they both sensed the consensus among the group.

"Wait, is that why you didn't want to leave that stuffed doll? Bickslow questioned Pappa with a half laugh. "For actual fucking _hugs?"_

 _"Sings, too,"_ Came the echoing reply.

Bickslow found himself turning to Alma with a shit eating grin plastered across his face. Hers was still pink; flushed with embarrassment.

"Don't say a single word. Just don't!" She growled at him.

"Might need some convincing on that front. Now that I think about it, I asked a question earlier and I didn't exactly get a decent reply."

"I am the _wrong person_ to blackmail!" Her expression was serious. Borderline murderous.

"Doesn't change the fact that you still owe me a proper answer..."

"Answer to wha... " It dawned slowly on her. "Are you _serious?_ I...thought you were _joking!"_

"Why would you think that?"

"You were laughing at the time!"

"I'm _always_ laughing!"

 _"Fine!"_

"Is that a yes?"

 _"Yes,_ now for all that's holy and sacred in existence can we please drop this? This is absolutely the wrong time to be discussing it."

Arman looked to Laxus while they argued and the lightning Dragon Slayer shrugged, utterly clueless; _he_ didn't know either. When he looked to the King, the man was staring ahead with a blank expression and a hard line where his mouth was normally; lips pressed tightly together in strained thought.

With the statues now calm and under orders to behave they moved forward with the plan. The next stage was potentially more dangerous than the first but by now, both mages were familiar with the red mist billowing through the streets and were confident they could dispose of it.

With the lacrima in the statues at their command, they had all the power they would need and a number of additional souls to help. Bickslow outstretched his hand and took the white lacrima the crystal mage offered him; made specifically for this purpose. The Seith sucked in a breath to prepare himself; the stone warriors sensed the change in them both and stilled. Waiting. People held their breath

Alma stepped passed the barrier, drew a breath and sang. The mist moved as though caught by a wind, blowing to her, around her. It stuck to her skin. Seeped into her eyes. The music turned very quickly to screams. Hers...and then his; hitting him at once as it passed through him. He felt fire. Invisible flames that licked at his flesh. Screams of rage and despair in his head as it surged through him, but the lacrima in his fist did its job and once the pain dropped his defenses, it pulled the insidious magic from him, the white crystal turning black, lines of red marbling through it. With somewhere else to funnel it, the pain lessoned and Alma rolled to her side heaving and sweating. Climbing to her feet she began to sing again and more mist appeared. This was repeated, absorb and funnel and store, up until the point the lacrima in Bickslow's hand exploded. Shards of crystal and bolts of black energy flying in every direction including right into them both.

"SOMEONE GET A HEALER!" Laxus shouted but Alma's head snapped up to glare at him.

"Get him another _lacrima!"_ She hissed. Expression pained while the energy immediately bottlenecked having nowhere to go; building up inside her.

Bickslow found himself laughing stupidly.

"You better do what the lady says, boss!" Laxus's look of worry didn't abate so Bickslow lifted his shirt and pulled out a shard of crystal, the wound closing immediately after.

Another white lacrima was dropped into his palm.

"I think people should probably start moving back. These things clearly have a rather explosive limit for this shit," He smirked.

The more Alma absorbed, the more appeared; drawn to her. Arlo had dropped a sizeable quantity over the city. How much was left they wouldn't be able to tell until they boarded the airship, but there _was_ a finite amount, and after an hour repeating the cycle, the last of it was finally gone.

In the end it took a total of nine lacrima before the air was clear of it, seven of which had been destroyed in the process; Bickslow hurling them away before they could blow up again in his hands. The final two remained whole. Two black and red globes, like the eyes of some heinous demon glaring at them from the sand where they were left. People unwilling to touch them. A wise choice considering the contents.

The first person to step outside the barrier and test the air was Atla's new King. A gesture that the witnesses there were surely going to remember for a very long time. This was a man that would not let others die or suffer on his account. Probably not the smartest ideology for a King to believe in, but he was certainly not the average royal.

People started fleeing out into the streets as soon as they realized the air was safe to breath. Many bowed to the King, many didn't. Too elated to finally be able to leave. To get to their homes. Look for those they'd left behind.

"Take a regiment and go out into the streets. Check for survivors and restrain any infected you find still living. We may be able to help them if the Seith survive the assault on the airship," He commanded. "How are our mages?" Baros asked with a relieved look.

Access to excessive amounts of magical power or not, Bickslow felt exhaustion and pain hit him. He was tired; a bone deep weariness that didn't mesh with just how alert he was feeling mentally. It was purely physical; he was keenly aware now that Alma was keeping them both alive despite the energy they were accessing. Without her, his body would have failed and he knew that. He'd never gone into detail about how she healed herself, healed others, how that magic mixed with the rest, but he'd learned how to utilize resonance to a small extent, maybe it would be in his best interest to learn a little healing too.

At the Kings query, Alma heaved a stream of black, tar like liquid into the dirt; wiping tiredly at her stained lips with the back of her hand and shrugging casually at Bickslow.

"Could be worse..." She didn't finish the sentence, interrupted by more vomit.

"I've... never seen anything like this," Bickslow's father had been around for the worst of the Seith mages machinations back in Bosco. They'd wreaked absolute havoc on his home country...but he had a feeling had they had the ability to do what his son had just done, they might not have been as easily snuffed out.

The lacrima in the statues chests burned brightly; so strong was the light that even Vander had issues crafting shadow made covers for them. Even the most dense he could make couldn't block it out completely, and the heat and light _eventually_ burned it's way through. He estimated he'd need to replace them at least once on route if they wanted to remain unseen. The shadow mage took another stamina potion and shook his limbs loose. The energy he'd expended making five of those had been immense, and he'd need to do it twice more. He'd never really doubted his powers before, but he felt a slip of worry at the thought. It wasn't often he felt a limit approach but the task at hand was going to almost completely wipe him out. They didn't exactly have a choice. All Boscan Airships were fitted with weaponry; both automated and manual defenses so they could guard their cargo. The ship Arlo had stolen, the Sky Nymph, was the single fastest ship in the Boscan fleet. It was mostly used for slave transport; holding enormous stores of water. Before it had been relegated to transport it had been a military vessel, designed for soldier transport and covert missions, but decommissioned as part of a peace treaty with Pergrande.

Still, Vander knew, even with Bickslow's statues, taking it on would be no easy feat. The plan was to get up to the ship unseen in the darkness and puncture the hull, allowing them access. Then they'd sweep through the ship and take it down from the inside.

Jera saw the sweat trickling down Vander's head and squeezed his ass as she passed him.

"Don't worry, if you can keep up with me in bed...you've got this!" She winked at him and he found himself grinning despite himself. When he turned he noticed his father staring at him with the widest smile he'd ever seen on the man. Arman's face looked about ready to split in two.

"And _what_ was _that?"_ The Ambassador asked him.

"We had sex. It's not the first time attractive women have copped a feel, dad," Vander fired back.

"Not _that._ That _smirk..._ " Arman's eyes narrowed. "You _like_ her," It wasn't a question. Vander scoffed at him.

"I'd hardly have had sex with her if I _didn't,"_ He said defensively trying to brush his father off. It was hardly the time to be thinking about those kinds of things.

"And _now_ you're being evasive...and may I add, _not very effectively._ You have feelings for her," Again, Arman wasn't asking.

"Sure, occasional lust..." He grinned wolfishly at the annoyance flashing back at him in his fathers eyes. "...periodically, this strange _tightness_ in my pants," Vander weaved away as Arman tried to slap him in the back of the head.

"I genuinely don't know what gods I inadvertently _insulted_ to have been cursed with your level of disrespect..." His father's eyes fell on the woman in question as she coordinated some rather suddenly nervous looking sand mages on repairing and altering some of the statues features, now that they'd seen how they move, she wanted the joints altered for more flexibility.

"If you do in fact feel anything for her, you should let her know..." He looked around. "You certainly don't want to realize your feelings on the other side of the world and have to make your way back _here,"_ Arman said gruffly. Unspoken was the warning not to make the same mistakes Bickslow had.

"And who says this hot, dusty looney bin isn't growing on me?"

"You may come to regret those words!" Arman growled with a tight humourless smirk.

"Oooooh! I'm _shaking,"_ Vander waved off the threat with a sarcastic laugh, heading back toward the palace.

"You know, he's pretty good at guarding people. Maybe if the King decides not to expel the embassy, he might do well guarding the next Ambassador Bosco appoints," Alma said, appearing to stand beside the Ambassador, having finally finished getting sick.

 _"If..._ is the operative word. I doubt given this whole mess that he'll be terribly happy to continue with current arrangements," Arman admitted; if the tables were turned, Bosco would be up in arms.

"I wouldn't say _that._ Atla is going to need resources and support to get everything back on its feet and Bosco is going to be feeling more than a little embarrassed that they got caught out in an international scandal. Atla will probably be able to renegotiate a hell of a good deal. This King seems pretty open to good advice...and..." She trailed off at the look of wonder on his face.

"Was that _your_ advice?" She glanced away from him, awkward under the scrutiny. "You're telling me...that Bosco is back in Atla's good graces after _all this_? Because you had a _word_ with the King?"

"Good graces is pushing it...and he's only willing to set aside Bosco's complacency under a few... a few _...conditions."_

Arman blanched. He'd spoken with the King. The man was not easily swayed and he'd seemed adamant on having nothing more to do with Bosco. Alma noticed Arman's suddenly concerned look.

"I didn't use magic, if that's what you're thinking..." She snorted. "It _does_ wear off you know...and there's no point in wasting it when a King offers to grant a request and you can make one in his best interest to accept," She explained herself.

Arman snorted rather crudely.

"I have another son who'd probably be delighted to offer you a more stable job at Bosco's diplomatic table," Arman said, not even looking at her.

"No thanks...I enjoy this kind of work. There's nothing like spraying perfume on bandits, putting them in dresses and dragging them through Vulcan nests," She smiled and Arman wasn't entirely sure that was a joke. _"People_ are just a hobby!"

"You're an interestingly confusing individual," He went to pat her on the shoulder but hesitated, withdrawing his hand awkwardly.

"Thank you!" She said, meeting him dead in the eye, grateful that he'd been so considerate. Boscan's were a hands on people. Hugging. Kissing. Touching. Usually very physically affectionate. Restraining that was difficult, she knew; more habit than anything else.

She smiled but it disappeared when his gaze strayed from her eyes. It was just a brief flicker but the man's sight fell to her stomach and her own widened considerably. Realizing what he was checking for despite the fact that she wouldn't be showing probably for months if they decided to actually have the baby.

"...he _told_ you?" That realization seemed to sober her good mood fairly quickly.

"Told me what?" Arman deadpanned. His face was a mask of cluelessness but she saw the waver in his energy. The deception. Stoic on the outside, and quickly falling apart below the surface.

"Who else knows?" She demanded.

"I really don't know what..."

"You can answer me or you can choose not to...and see exactly how _undiplomatic_ I really am," She warned, keeping her voice low.

"In his defense, he _didn't_ know Vander was with me," Arman held up his hands.

 _"Brilliant!_ For a man who didn't want children...he seems in an eager rush to tell people," Alma moaned putting her head in her hands.

"He panicked...it's ... _understandable,_ " There was a curious glint in his. Maybe humour. Maybe he was simply perplexed. While Bickslow reaction might have been some sort of gut response, it didn't necessarily mean it made sense.

"The first medical exam I had, the healer told me I'd never be able to have a baby...that.. I was barren...and I made peace with that," She was completely serious when she spoke. "I was okay with that because I knew I shouldn't be _anyone's_ mother," Her honesty took him aback.

"Is that your decision then?"

"Maybe," She said coolly. "I don't even know what the long term effects of my magic would be on an infant. People have even basic defenses. Some resistance. My effects wear off. Something as stupid as me quietly losing my temper and I could permanently change them without even knowing...determine a lifelong mental illness." Her eyes were glassy. "I could _ruin_ their life before it _ever_ began."

"I don't think you give yourself enough credit. Control is something I've seen you wield in abundance..." He smiled knowingly. "...when you've _chosen_ to, anyway. You aren't the first woman to find their magic at odds with their children. I'm certain that if it came down to it, adequate protections could be putmin place," She had valid concerns. Absently he wondered if she'd spoken to Bickslow about her fears, but from the way she was talking, it seemed that this was the first time.

"What type of mother needs help so they don't harm their own child?"

Arman shifted uncomfortably.

 _"My mother_...developed _problems_ after I was born. Some times she would forget to nurse me, or about me entirely and leave me alone unattended. Often couldn't bear to be near me, and others wouldn't leave my side, even to sleep," He sighed remembering the long conversations he'd had with his father. "To the extent my family hired nurse maids to help care for me," She didn't speak and he was grateful for that.

"My mother would fall into fits of depression, sleep, sometimes for days. Have terrible flashes of temper only to break down weeping at the sight of me. The doctors told my father it would pass quickly but it didn't. It was clear there was something terribly wrong when hefound me missing from my cradle and my mother out on the terrace holding me. He said...that the way she was standing there, staring out into nothing, that look on her face...he _knew_ she meant to throw me off," When Alma didn't immediately respond Arman worriedly glanced into his shadow. Looking for signs of Vander.

"He's not here," She finally said, a soft quality to her voice that hadn't been there before.

 _"Good,"_ He laughed bitterly. "This isn't something I've told any of them. I'd rather it a story they didn't hear while eavesdropping."

"What did your father do?"

"He loved my mother just as much as he loved me, so he made sure that there were always servants near me, that they never left me alone and my mother was always under close watch. The doctors prescribes medications to stabilize her _and...eventually_ things got better. He made sure she was cared for. That she got adequate time out of the house away from me," His face grew hard. "The melancholy that often touches women after their children are born. It _can_ drive them mad. Lead them to do _unimaginable_ things...sometimes the infants _need_ protection, but in many cases it passes. It's no judgement on the mother. Childbirth is a _terrible_ and rewarding thing," He wanted to reach out to her and hug her. The knowledge that basic human contact, comfort, was something she had difficulty with made him pity her greatly.

"There are things we can't control... but knowing what you might face, you can put measures in place to prevent them becoming a problem. After giving birth, women in Bosco meet with specialized doctors frequently to assess their mental health...I believe it's the same in Fiore?"

Alma looked thoughtful. It was true. They would return with the infants for weeks, sometimes even months after the birth. It annoyed Lucy greatly; her appointments always fell early in the morning.

Alma huffed out a sharp chuckle.

"I _know_ what you're up to. You just want grandchildren, accidental or not..." Her lips pulled into something close to a smile. "...but I'll take all the advice I can get," She added. "I'm fine with hugs by the way, once you as...kkk," She choked out caught momentarily off guard as the far larger man swept her up off her feet before she even finished her sentence and crushed her between two enormous arms.

His emotions were ordered and contained behind a strong will. As difficult as he was to read sometimes, even for someone like her, his energy was just as restrained on contact. It wasn't the surge she would have otherwise expected. To top it off, the man was happy.

"I _also_ want to thank the woman that saved my sons life," He muttered warmly. "You would do well to think of me as you would a father. I won't accept anything less," He grumbled.

"I wouldn't even know where to start on that..." She started laughing. "I never actually _had_ one," She pulled back and turned to see Bickslow watching them out of earshot. Still sitting in the dust trying to conflate his new awareness of their surroundings, his vision was waving in and out; grabbing glimpses of the blurry, noisy world as Alma did.

The way it jarred back and forth made him sick to his stomach if he were honest, but in the moments it kicked in and he saw the woman as she couldn't see herself, he saw thousands of strands billowing from her, saw them reach out and touch people as they passed or if they wandered too close, not doing anything to them, simply examining them. When she turned towards him, he saw a knot of light at her core. Protecting the tiny speck in there that would, _could,_ eventually become their son; a thought that made his hands shake. But for all she doubted herself, she was already mothering his totems. An actual baby he no longer thought would be much of a stretch considering Pappa was already letting slip all kinds of embarrassing trivia.

Despite first impressions, she _was_ affectionate. She _was_ organized; usually _religious_ about routines...and despite saying she hated them, she had a definite soft spot for babies.

But none of that was fair on her. She'd only had a year to experience her new life. Just one single year. And here he'd knocked her up and left her in a predicament expecting her to give up the next twenty helping to raise a child neither of them had planned or were even sure they wanted. She thought _she'd_ been selfish, it was _nothing_ on him.

A painful surge of worry and anxiety and rage stuck him and made Bickslow gasp painfully. For a moment the foreign feeling consumed him, making him want to scream and cry and shrink away. He turned and struck out, clocking Laxus quickly on the chin before pulling back out of his grasp. He'd wondered what Alma felt when people touched her without warning, and now he knew, and it was _fucking dreadful._

"Sorry, boss. Channelling a short angry woman at the minute," He explained.

Laxus rubbed at his face. Thankfully while Bickslow might be reacting like his girlfriend at the moment, he didn't hit nearly as hard.

"I'll pass that along," Laxus breathed. "Me and Natsu took a test run on those statues and _I_ managed to hold down my lunch...but Natsu sure as hell didn't. Probably not what you want to hear, but he's sitting this one out," He finished

"Jammy pink haired _bastard,"_ Bickslow bemoaned.

"Not that he's gonna be sitting here twiddling his thumbs...the King wants him to go with a brigade into the fire temple and check for survivors. It's a pretty fortified place so they might have escaped the potion. 'Sides, I doubt the fuckers would have had a hand in making something that could be used on them. There's probably defenses set up for it," Laxus saw sense in it. The new King was a thorough and prudent man.

"Where's the Boscan woman that was helping him? Maybe she can convince him to send Jera with Natsu, she knows the inside of the temple," Bickslow said. Jera had spent days there under Arlo's magic.

Laxus shrugged.

"He released her from his service this afternoon, haven't seen her since," The Dragon Slayer said and Bickslow frowned.

"Alma didn't speak to him right before by any chance, did she? Kinda smug look on her face?" The last thing she'd said about the King was that if he continued working the poor woman to the bone like he was, she'd probably _forget_ he was even a man.

 _"Yeah,_ guess we should be worried, huh?" Laxus grinned.

"She's got too fucking fond of meddling in peoples lives," Bickslow chuckled.

Laxus offered him some water and he took it, staring at the lights of the airship in the distance.

"So, you think we're gonna survive this?"

"We gotta...for Atla's sake. This country's seen enough destruction without Erza and my gramps turning up demanding answers," Laxus said with a serious expression that broke into a smile when Bickslow started laughing.

The statues all knelt and opened their hands, palms flatly facing up.

"Well then, after you, boss," Bickslow gestured to the makeshift platform.

It was time to go; it was time for his old teacher to die.


	25. Chapter 25

Notes

Huge think you to all my reviewers. Desna, kmmcm, CanaryOfBlack, GlassMoutains. Thank you so much! Every comment an message means the absolute world to me!

Things are going to start winding up now for the finale! :) I genuinely didn't think this would ever wind up being so long.

* * *

Vander held out as long as he could, but a short mile from the airship, battered by high winds, thinning air and course sand, the cover on Puppu's chest evaporated suddenly and without warning; when Vander tried to put up another one, the world went momentarily black and he fell; Jera catching him by the shoulder before he stumbled from the statues palm, setting him on his knees.

He'd exhausted his magical reserves and as a result they were now hundreds of feet in the air with a mile of battle ground between the ex military craft and them.

Within moments, spotlights from the ship blinked on and the assault party were forced to cover their eyes as they were hit with streams of blinding light; the statues illuminated in the pitch black night sky.

Even at a distance they heard the screeching sounds of the ballista rotating and maneuvering into position; preparing to shoot them out of the sky while a high pitched alarm screamed their arrival.

Despite the calamity, Jera wasn't phased. Her father had thrown her into combat just like any other Atlan would have done their son, and she'd screwed up enough in her lifetime not to be dissuaded by a pearshaped plan. She shouted through the wind to the other sand mages; they'd made sure there was one in every group.

"SHIELDS! NOW!" She ordered and from the air and the dark ground below, pillars of sand formed and shaped themselves into enormous plates of stone, several meters thick; walls coming together in front of them; a hasty protection from the coming attack. The cannons were powerful but slow to charge, it could have been possible to outmaneuver them, but for the passengers in their hands, and they needed those numbers, every man and woman if they wanted to take the ship.

The first blast hit Peppe and pierced through the stone like it were made of nothing more than paper; punching through and leaving a gaping hole. The white beam struck the statue and tore the shoulder open at the joint. Stone and sand and dust exploded everywhere as the arm began to break away.

There was a second of panic; wide eyed terror in the men's faces before the entire limb fell into the darkness, taking the sand mage and three soldiers with it. Some of the luckier ones managed to jump to the other intact hand but already the cannon was recharging. They knew the minute that the mage hit the ground because the remnants of the broken wall in front of Peppe crumbled into dust at his death, the magic that created it, crumbling away.

Alma moved Pappa over and let the remaining soldiers move into his palm. Trading places with them on Peppe who was now no use as a transport.

"What the hell are you doing?" Bickslow growled from his position with the others on Poppo.

"TAKING OUT THAT FUCKING BALLISTA!" She snarled.

She climbed up to Peppe's head and the statue started crackling with blue energy. If there was any question as to how fast they could move without their passengers, there wasn't anymore as Peppe took off at speed. The spotlight suddenly straining to keep up; following them as they closed the distance.

The great cannon fired again and they watched the beam of light shoot forward, Peppe banked sharply to the right and the strike missed, barely singeing stone and disappearing off into the night sky. The statue stopped at about two hundred meters and raised its now free hand. Bickslow felt the draw of power, the _immense_ pull, as energy crackled between Peppe's fingers and a blast the likes of which seemed to resemble an etherion cannon shot out and struck the airship... only to collide with an invisible barrier. They were close enough to feel it; the same kind of magic that protected Josta's palace. That's why Arlo hadn't left yet; he was too busy fitting _shields_ to that airship, no doubt expecting resistance in Bosco.

The Sky Nymph's cannon struck again and this time hit it's mark, cutting a violent path through Peppe's abdomen, almost cutting the statue in two at the waist and sending stone in every direction. A large segment struck the surface of the airship and broke up and Bickslow cursed, knowing exactly what Alma was going to do next. Because while it was protected from magical energy, it was still apparently vulnerable to actual physical attack.

Alma growled under her breath.

"Let's take this thing _apart!"_ She snarled.

The others watched on, dumbstruck as Peppe threw them against the airship, the force so great even a behemoth like it pitched dangerously to the side, steel screeching, before Peppe seized the cannon in an enormous stone fist, pulling it out of the ship and showering the darkness with sparks of white light, the noise of tearing metal echoing in the din among the premature cheers of King Baros's men.

As the cannon finally broke free it detonated, shattering the lacrima at Peppe's core. The stone warrior started coming asunder, unable to maintain its shape in the aftermath, too damaged to continue, and without the Lacrima, Peppe didn't have the power to keep them airborne. Pieces of the stone giant fell back to the earth and Bickslow wanted to shout, wanted to scream but there was only silence in his head, an echoing emptiness. Shock and fear rippling through the other souls. And then a sense of amusement and self satisfaction that could only have been her in the link.

"Alma..." Laxus started to say. Fear haunting his face.

"Is alive on the ship and probably laughing her ass off," Bickslow said with a grin. He pointed to the damaged ship, more particularly the hole in the hull. "And she's made us a door! Think you can zip in through there, boss?" The Seith said with a malicious grin.

Laxus was gone in a streak of lightning before anyone could say anything else to the contrary; the man smiling because suddenly, he was going to be useful.

The main cannon may have been gone, but the airship had a sizeable number of smaller, less powerful gun turrets and as close as they now were, the statues made enormous targets. Bullets and energy blasts started chipping away at them, targeting the lacrima cores in the remaining four having seen Peppe crumble without it. Stone showered then all as the shields began to get cut up by the hail of fire.

They used the remaining stone to provide cover as the statues, one after the other, deposited their cargo on the ship until only the King was left with his personal guard.

"Onto the ship! Quickly!" The King ordered, and men in armour, mages, started jumping in through the breach. He was the last one in and already he found evidence of Alma and Laxus's warpath. Bloody, singed bodies lay scattered around them. The steel door out of the cannon's control room had been literally torn off its hinges; the metal was warped and there were finger sized dents on its corners, too many for one person. Alma and Laxus had literally pulled the door away with their bare hands.

Bickslow stared out into the darkness as the statues fell away, finally succumbing to the gunfire, too damaged to remain in one piece. He felt the destruction of each lacrima like a knife to the chest; a sudden, sharp piercing pain. Each loss leaving him feeling weak and momentarily disorientated.

Someone clapped him on the shoulder, the King in fact, and Bickslow breathed a sigh of relief as he was spared the sensory shock he'd been experiencing.

"We need to go!" The King said drawing swords and straightening his helmet. He kept the armour of the city commander instead of Royal livery, unwilling to paint himself anymore of a target than he already was.

"Just give me a second," Bickslow pleaded, he wasn't sure his legs would work at the moment.

"Unfortunately, that is something we can't afford. If you can't walk, I _will_ leave you," The King snapped.

Bickslow laughed. He was a good man...but he was still an Atlan soldier at heart. The Kings men had scattered under orders to secure the ship, but Bickslow knew Alma would go straight for Arlo. Straight to the bridge.

There was a sound like crunching bone and a green hue lit up the room. The King withdrew, wide eyed with swords raised as three of the corpses rose onto their feet; limbs dangling and dead eyes now glowing with otherworldly green light. The sight of it got Bickslow to his feet quickly, he recognised the presence of Puppu, Peppe and Poppo but the sight of the bodies they'd chosen made him pause. It was the first time he'd ever seen them possess a physical human body. The first time he'd ever seen them possess a _corpse._

"Who told you to do _this?"_

 _"Alma,"_ They all said in unison.

"Of _course_ she did," His woman ...was not a _squeamish_ woman. He'd never felt comfortable with the idea of his babies inhabiting the dead like that, but he could see the uses and now was not the time to be fighting.

The corridors of the ship would have presented a problem if Alma and Laxus hadn't left them a trail of destruction to follow. Even in a maze of corridors and passageways, she wouldn't get lost, she wouldn't be tricked by an illusion. And with Laxus following, Bickslow doubted that there would be many mages capable of standing up to them. He needed to remember she'd worked with Laxus in his absence; that this wasn't a foreign procedure for them. The pair had even managed to avoid killing the possessed Boscan crew where they could; leaving them unconscious and groaning, slumped in various positions of injury but otherwise still breathing.

The only people it seemed they were killing without mercy or hesitation were the fire mages; a group Bickslow doubted many would miss. If there were any left alive at the end of it, the chances were very high that the King would just have them killed himself. To be morbidly blunt, dying here was probably preferable to an Atlan public execution.

Jera and Vander's group were already ahead of them with the others and Bickslow could see disappointment in the Kings aura at the single fact that they'd yet to see a single living enemy so far. As it stood, if things continued, it was unlikely they'd see much of any at all.

The three corpses floated sinisterly down the hallway, oddly terrifyingly, somewhat vacant grins on their faces. Heads slack as though they couldn't be bothered keeping them uptight as well.

"No more possessing dead bodies for you guys..." Bickslow muttered, more than a little creeped out.

"Alma tells me that the Boscan's gave you that brand and exiled you as a child?" The King said suddenly and Bickslow sputtered. He wasn't comfortable knowing that she'd talk about his past like that, especially with people he didn't know.

"That's right..." The Seith hissed. The King reminding him just how much Arlo Basta had actually wronged him. A lifetime exiled from his very home. Separated from his family. "But they were afraid. People do stupid fucking things when they're afraid."

"Stupid _and_ cruel," Baros added. "But hardship builds character...you may not be the kind of man you are if you hadn't lived through that. You may even have turned out like Basta if you hadn't been taught at a young age to use your magic responsibly. Bosco though, it _cannot_ rule, if it's ruled by fear."

Bickslow almost snorted. City commander one day, King another. He couldn't work out if this was one or the other speaking. Maybe there wasn't that much difference. Kings were all eccentric though. At least all the ones Bickslow had met.

"Yeah, though they didn't seem all that frightened when they sent Arlo Basta here," Bickslow tone was almost sinister with hatred.

"Very true...your betrothed," The King smiled suddenly as Bickslow blanched, realizing in the midst of some kind of magical rush he'd managed to convince her to say yes to marriage in front of a few thousand people. Bosco had certain rules about marriage and accepting under duress. That might land him in some trouble later on. Baros continued. "Atla would have been lucky to have a Queen like her... periodically remember that," He said with humour in his tone. It was a clear implication in his words. To treat her like one.

"I will. Believe, me," And he meant that.

The three flying corpses up ahead stopped dead in their tracks and Bickslow felt a drain on his magic as they prepared to open fire on whatever had appeared up ahead.

He didn't have Alma's sight and his own was limited to what was in front of him, so he couldn't quite tell what had stalled them. The pair went completely silent, holding their breath, but the possessed bodies didn't move.

"Should I be worried?" Bickslow asked. "Arlo doesn't have any powerful mages or anything? Cause these guys are _spooked."_

They weren't able to tell him what was wrong, only that something was very far from right at the minute.

"There's one, my men tell me a green mage worked with the priests at the temple, I understand you sampled his handiwork?"

Bickslow winced at the memory of the crossbow bolt that Arlo made Jera shoot him with. The way it grew into him. The agony of that.

The Atlan armour the King wore wouldn't be pierced by anything as flimsy as an arrow, but Bickslow's leathers were not going to protect him. Even something as small as a nick in the skin the magic in the wood could use to grow.

The King saw the look on his face and stepped in front of him, one sword over his head in a position to strike and the second across his torso, guarding his chest. His armour was fire proof, and Bickslow was still weak, so the King slipped forward to stand with the corpses before lowering his swords, harrumphing thoughtfully. Crouching down he drew his hand along the ground and Bickslow saw the air ripple in front of him like water.

"Illusion," He said. When the King pushed his hand through the wall, the corridor ahead disappeared and opened up into a vast expanse of suspended walkways over an enormous storage bay filled with now open vats of water. The metal flooring just on the other side of the illusion had been destroyed and there was a twenty foot gap to the connecting walkway, and a _very_ long drop down to the steel flooring of the warehouse below.

It was a trap designed to catch out those in a rush. Looking down, Bickslow saw the bloodied remains of three Atlan soldiers, already crumpled and broken at the bottom.

The King growled driving his swords into the floor where the illusion had materialized. Runes revealed themselves once he broke the steel, the spell shattering with it.

"This entire ship is fucking booby trapped," Bickslow whined.

"We should proceed carefully then..."

But Bickslow had already spotted the fight taking place at the other side of the expanse. Saw tentacle-like vines climbing out of some of the vats of water swiping at their group. Jera and Vander hacking away at the plants in a desperate attempt to get to the mage responsible; Laxus trapped in a mess of thick green cables lightning erupting in every direction, completely ineffective.

Bickslow grabbed hold of a leather strap across Puppu's bloodied back and the King did the same with Poppo. The corpses taking off at speed down the walkway, keeping both of them airborne in case of any more illusions; there feet mere inches from the ground.

When they were almost across, almost within reach of them, Bickslow watched a vine strike Alma painfully across the back while she was busy trying to free Laxus; the blow sending her careening over the railings and down into the storage bay below.

They were about eighty feet up over the floor of the hold, and Bickslow knew from experience that the fall probably wouldn't kill her, gravely injure her, break a lot of bones, but she frequently put herself back together again. He knew she'd survive hitting the ground...

...but she didn't hit the ground at all. Time slowed as she fell and he could see beforehand that she wasn't going to collide with a solid surface. Alma of course missed the ground completely and landed square in one of the open topped tanks, colliding with the edge on the way in with a sickening thunk, her head catching the rim, before disappearing under the rolling waves of water; the liquid disturbed by the pitching of the airship during their assault.

Bickslow let go of Puppu and crossed his arms over his chest, pointing his toes as he dropped, hoping when he hit the water he didn't accidentally collide with her. The impact may as well have been like hitting pavement, ripples of shock shooting up his legs and back before the cold water hit his face and forced its way up his nose as he battled the instinct to draw a breath.

It felt like a lifetime under the surface, quiet and still, a contrasting image of the total chaos above; where his friends were still fighting for their lives, battling that green mage. Underneath the surface, Bickslow had all the time in the world to see her floating there, lifelessly hovering, her hair fanning her head like some kind of halo. He allowed himself only a short breath when he finally broke the surface before diving down again. She'd moved, caught in some sort of current, or he had, he couldn't be sure but suddenly she wasn't as close as before. Despite the weight of his leathers he swam, reached out to her, kicking off his boots as we went deeper and deeper. He caught a hold of leather and pushed up toward the light and air. She was already turning blue, her skull split to the extent it showed bone and she _wasn't_ breathing. To make matters worse when he glanced around he immediately realized that the edge of the tank was a clear six foot above the waterline, and there weren't any ladders out; they were both stuck in the churning waves with no way out. Now his tired limbs treaded water desperately to keep them both afloat. The ship seemed to shudder violently, whatever was going on, damage perhaps from their assault, who knew.

A newly formed wave caught them both and sent him surging against the edge of the vat. He managed to get himself between her and the steel rim but when they hit, the impact sent them both under; the weight of their gear now sinking them as Bickslow floundered.

For a moment, it crossed his mind that he was going to die, that they both were, and he wondered if he'd be able to find her again in whatever came after.

He wanted to think he would, but he doubted even she'd be certain, despite having been technically born in the land of the dead. All he did know, was that death wasn't the end, and if there was an even slim chance of finding her again, he'd take that.

Darkness swam at the edge of his vision but before it overtook him, cold hands broke through the waves and he was pulled up into the light and the noise, Alma followed moments later; his babies dragging them out of the tank and depositing them up to the walkway with the others. Bickslow landed on his knees coughing while a corpse he didn't recognize set Alma down gently, much like a child.

Laxus scrambled over to her and pressed his ear to her chest for a heartbeat, which only told Bickslow she didn't have one, because the man would have been able to hear it without needing to get so close...that's if it had been _there._

Laxus growled and gave her a sudden sharp thump to the chest. Hard enough thatnit could have cracked a grown man's ribs, but the reaction was immediate as she rolled to the side and spewed what had to have been a litre of water at their feet before collapsing again.

"Bix, you okay?" A blood covered Vander asked, holding an injured Jera up, one arm slung over his shoulder. The woman's leg was a mess. From the looks of it a branch or something had gone right through her thigh.

Bickslow looked down at his bare feet; having lost his socks as well. He wriggled his toes in the air.

"Yeah, but I fucking loved those boots, man," He laughed looking at Alma who was finally stirring. "Ali? You alive again over there?" He joked. He was only now noticing that her arm was broken just below the elbow as well as that head injury. The worst of which had healed. Though not completely. She was too weak, too drained to heal any further. He put fingers to his own head that came back wet with fresh blood from where he'd hit the inside of the tank. He wasn't healing either.

The King noticed as well.

"It seems your brief spell of invincibility has passed, care to join us mere mortals as we introduce some more fools to the afterlife?" Baros's face was as happy as he imagined it could ever look. The man was actually smiling. To him? _This_ was fun.

"All you Atla people are just fucking crazy, you know that?" Vander remarked.

"To me, _you_ are the crazy ones. We're on a heavily defended battleship, fighting an enemy that outnumbers us all, and for the sake of _two_ Kingdoms. _This?_ This is _glorious!"_ He seemed to sing, entire face animated.

Bickslow sat up laughing, climbing to his bare feet. The grate of the walkway biting into them painfully. He eyed the boots on the floating corpses feet but could already tell they'd be too small for him. One of the floating bodies reached down and picked up Alma, cradling her. The body opened its mouth and spoke.

 _"Hugs!"_

That single word managed to chill everyone to the core. Half the man's face had been split open before he died.

"Yes, Pappa, _hugs,"_ Bickslow stared down into the water longingly _. "Hey,_ you think one of you guys could..."

Two wet corpses appeared, one setting down his boots and the other Alma's treasured swords. Both already pulled from the water; easily done when the dead had no need of air.

Contact with Alma, with her magic made them stronger. More intelligent. More considerate. Independent. More _human._

And Bickslow knew it was the same for him as well. They juat made each other _better._

The thought came out of no where but once it landed, he couldn't shake it. He _wanted_ children with her. He wanted _this_ child; wanted to see her get old with him. Wanted to see her terrify children at Halloween, something she'd been looking forward to that he'd missed. He'd missed her first Christmas as well. She'd even chosen not to celebrate it, taking a mission instead of being with the guild. He suddenly recalled that her birthday would have been just the other day. It would have been the first one. The first birthday.

He was grateful that the water streaming down his face hid the tears that he shed, because he _wept_ with the shame of it. The only one in the group that looked to have noticed was Laxus who gave his shoulder a firm shake. Some small reassurance.

Bickslow wiped the hair out of her eyes; his dying thoughts were about whether he'd be able to find her after death. Love, he knew, came in all forms...in a whole manner of intensities, but that was something new to him. This was something more than special.

"You okay there? You spaced out," Vander looked at him.

"Just wondering what to get her for her birthday...and Christmas. Kinda missed both," Bickslow lamented.

"Hah...you knocked her up on her _birthday? Fuck,"_ Vander wheezed "You may as well just empty that account of yours now, cause that's not going to be cheap," Vander stilled, realizing exactly what he'd just said, and to whom. There were a lot of shocked and unhappy faces around.

"And for all her preaching about adequate birth control? _Hypocrite!"_ Jera laughed.

Bickslow glared at his brother.

"Remind me again what branch of the Boscan government you work for?"

Vander paled.

"The covert part..." He muttered sheepishly.

The Kings eyes zeroed in on him carefully. Vander caught the suspicion in his eyes.

"This was my _first_ visit here. Believe me, if I'd been before, I probably wouldn't be here now," He held up a hand in surrender. "Seriously...no knowledge of this stuff whatsoever!"

The King looked at him quizzically.

"I'll accept that," He said, tone humourless.

"You know..." Vander added in tone that instantly made Bickslow and Laxus suddenly concerned for his safety. "...in Bosco its drilled into us not to _throw_ our swords. Bad form," He said, Bickslow his his face in his hands while Jera elbowed Vander with a disbelieving sneer. The plant mage was dead at the King's hands; Baros having thrown a sword that had taken the man clean off his feet and pinned him to the wall by his chest.

The King looked blankly at Vander for a moment.

"Maybe Boscan military should follow Atlan tradition, and make sure their soldiers carry more than one," He deadpanned. Expression flatter than a week old half tanker of beer.

Laxus sighed. Both in exhaustion and relief. If only he'd brought tape, Vander would be _silent_ for the remainder of the mission.

"If you're done insulting foreign royalty, we need to keep moving. Bickslow and Alma to the rear. Corpses guarding our flank. Vander and Jera behind us...stick to the center," Laxus flashed an elongated canine at the King. "We'll take up the front position,"

King Baros took off his helmet completely and cast it over the side. Sweat was dripping off the red ring in his nose, blood off his swords. The King looked to Laxus pleased with the suggestion.

"You know, we don't see many Florian's here, you might consider visiting in the future with your guild," He calmly suggested.

Laxus looked to Bickslow, about to laugh.

"Oh...no...believe me. You _don't_ want that."


	26. Chapter 26

The King had spent his life fighting. Trained as a soldier and head of the city guard he was an active fighter. It showed. The man was fast and beyond vicious with a blade. Enemies _ran_ from them. And the ones that didn't soon wished they had. A fire mage surprised them at one of the larger junctions but the King took the lead, blocking the flames of their attack on his armour, the flames rippling off like water, opening a window for the Laxus who sent so much current through the man the sockets of his eyes were left smoking; his corpse twitching where it fell.

By the time they reached the command decks it had become hard to tell what blood was theirs. They were covered in so much of it, five floating corpses trailing them, an air of malevolence more befitting of the villain they were hunting than respectable mages following them.

They weren't on their own in this fight, either. There was evidence of the others that had boarded the ship; shouts and clashing steel in the distance, reminding them they weren't alone. They _would_ take this airship. There was suddenly no doubt in anyone's minds about _that._

Still only semi conscious, Pappa carried Alma while Bickslow wielded Alma's swords with an imprecise brutality Laxus and his brother had never seen from him. He was normally a clean fighter, preferring long range, bloodless combat, but it was clear he'd learned _something_ from her as a number of mages ended up at the end of those blades. There was now no more humour in Bickslow's eyes.

Vander helped a still bleeding Jera walk; the wound in her leg was ugly and vulgar; a hideous looking tear that bled profusely. With a tourniquet and some gauze they stemmed the flow, but she could barely stand on it, the damage to the muscle wasn't going to be easy to heal if it was even possible to fully heal at all. There was a likelihood she might walk with a limp for the rest of her life.

"How're you holding up?" Vander asked her; a quiet, rhetorical question that any fool would have been able to answer him, but Jera was getting weaker, and even though he was helping her walk, he wasn't unscathed, either. Bruised and battered, the pair of them were a sight, hobbling along.

She laughed lithely at him.

"You seem to be the one doing all the holding up, you tell me?" She cracked a toothy smile that firmly reminded him of his last conversation with his father, and the warmth he felt at the look turned to sheer terror...he really _did_ have feelings for her. His home was the other side of the world, almost, and hers was here in a place he honestly wasn't terribly fond of at the minute. That just wasn't going to work out.

"You'll be fine," He whispered, disheartened by the realization that anything he might possibly start with her, was all but doomed to fall apart from the beginning.

She sensed the shift in his mood.

"You know, I'm the one with the hole in my leg, so what's with the frown?" Her directness made his heart just _ache._ She was so perfect for him he felt like an idiot for not admitting it. Most broke under hours of Seith control; his brother was careful not to harm those he took possession of, Vander doubted Arlo was so considerate. Jera Ferod had spent days like that. Been made murder her own father...and who knew what else. But here she was, still fighting, joking, _teasing_ him. Laughing. Vander couldn't understand why the sound of her laugh tied him up in knots, but it did.

"I shouldn't have had sex with you..." He responded with a murmur.

"Why not?" She seemed hesitant to know the answer. Expecting rejection.

"If we live through this...I'll be going back home," He looked to the side, away from her. "That might be a little difficult now."

It dawned on her that he wouldn't be staying, couldn't stay, followed by the cold slap to the face when she landed on the realization that of _course_ he couldn't stay. He had a home and a job and a family...and none of those were in Atla. She could have gone with him, could have left, but that was now complicated.

"I-I'd go...go back with you...but the King offered me command of the city," Vander's head snapped back to her. Wide eyed. She would be the first woman in Atlan history to have the role. The first individual not to have suffered the trials either.

"I fucking hope you said yes!" He rasped. It would quite literally make her the most powerful woman in the Kingdom.

"Course I did!" She laughed. "I'd be an idiot not to...it's a pretty big deal," She was smiling. "There's a lot of anger and resentment towards the palace for letting this happen and he thinks giving me the position will show people he intends for things to change, abolish slavery, appoint a woman to a position of power... I was also a member of that failed rebellion after all. He thinks that should soothe the still rebellious masses," She chuckled.

"You're also _not_ a soldier," He was grinning, happy for her, but there was an ambiguous mix of emotions that left him rankled and confused. "And really young..." He added, trying to conceal any traces of negativity with a smirk.

"All true!" Her expression fell. "I like you...and the one good thing about running the city is the ability to bend the rules...you'll always be welcome here, even if he decides to eject the Embassy," She reached up and over, only to peck him on the cheek. A stupid, chaste little thing that left his cheeks and ears burning like red iron.

Vander looked away to hide the somewhat embarrassing blush and spotted a marker on the wall.

"Hey! Command deck is this way!" He pointed to a stairwell.

"Oh...stairs? _Great,"_ Jera whined before Vander picked her up over his shoulder. Hand lingering on her behind just a little longer, a little firmer than necessary. A wolfish grin tugging at his mouth. _"Hey!"_

He muttered to himself happily in Boscan at her exclamation knowing she didn't speak the language, but he felt someone flick him in the back of his head and he turned to find Bickslow glaring unamusedly at him; the five corpses of the damned floating behind the Seith. Vander didn't waver often, but that the sight was downright nightmare inducing.

"I _don't_ need to hear that, Van!" Bickslow protested.

Vander got a swift knee in the ribs from the woman on his shoulder.

"What did I say?" He complained.

"I have no idea, but I'm assuming it has something to do with my ass," Jera griped and Vander paused on the stairs, mid step.

"How'd you figure?"

"Lucky guess!" She said evasively.

Laxus and the King pushed passed them, quickly catching up and Jera winced with the look of amusement the King threw her as he passed. Now it was her time to turn red faced.

The command deck was completely dark and so silent that for just a moment it seemed like it might be empty, and their entire assault pointless; nothing more than a wild goose chase. But they saw it, outside the ship, through the glass. A dozen Boscan airships blockading the city out of sight of the palace grounds but close enough to be spotted from the bridge of the Sky Nymph. That was why Arlo lingered to set up the shielding on the ship, because as fast as this beast was, it wasn't getting through that unscathed. Arman had of course sent word back to Bosco once he realized that Arlo Basta had a hand in this. And the Royal armada had been despatched accordingly. Now whether that was to kill him because he was a criminal, or silence him before he aired any dirty secrets was another thing entirely.

The lights in the room suddenly flickered on as main power returned and everyone, even the King froze. The bridge was filled with men and woman in dirty and stained Boscan air force uniforms, each one of them holding a knife to their own throats. Some of them had looks of fear in their eyes, some seemed unaware of what they were doing.

"Move and they will kill themselves," A shaky voice rasped from the shadows.

Arlo Basta looked like he'd seen better days. He was haggard and feverish, his arm wrapped in a stained dressing. The smell of infection was enough to make Laxus want to vomit. It didn't look like he was going to live very long regardless of their interference. In his good hand he held a lacrima, drawing from their example and using it to boost his own power. But he didn't have the same support Bickslow did with Alma and the babies. There to control the flow of power and negate the dangerous feedback.

The older Seith's eyes were wild when they fell on Alma.

"Wake her up!" He demanded.

"She's _unconscious,_ you moron, how do you suppose we do that?" Laxus sneered.

Baros was completely silent, glaring at Arlo. No one quite knew if he cared enough about the Boscan personnel to stay his hand for longer than it took for him to think of the best way of killing Basta, but regardless of the reasons, he waited.

 _"He_ can!" Arlo nodded to Bickslow. "My old friend should be able to feed her just enough power for her to heal herself..." He looked down to his hand. "...then she can heal _this,"_ He sneered _._ "No fire breathing fool this time?" Arlo asked.

Laxus raised his fist and let lightning crackle between his fingers.

"No, he's down below, _ironically_ burning down the fire temple," Laxus grinned despite the situation. That...was rather funny when he thought about it.

"Very amusing!" Arlo remarked humourlessly before his eyes caught on Jera, who was now back on her feet at Vander's side. "My dear girl. Your _leg?_ And here I was hoping you'd dance for me again," He said and Vander felt Jera shiver in his grip.

Her face morphed into one of rage. Her mother had thought her to dance. And Alma had thought her to use that to defend herself. Utilize speed and grace to outmaneuver opponents instead of clashing with brute force like her father had tried to teach her. It made her sick for something that filled her with so much pride and fond memory to be used to demean her.

"I'll dance on your _grave!"_ She said, serious and sombre.

Arlo was visibly conflicted about what to feel over the remark. The woman seemed unbreakable despite his best efforts but he seemed to loath having to give up on the idea. He looked back to Bickslow frowning.

"Do it, or every drop of blood that spills in this room with be on your head...I won't live _long enough_ to see your so called retribution," The man snarled. It was clear to see the desperation now colouring his eyes.

Bickslow sucked in a breath and turned to Pappa with his hands outstretched. But the corpse never moved to relinquish her, clutching her tighter it seemed.

"I _won't_ let anything happen to them! I promise!" He could have ordered the soul to do what he said, but he couldn't find it in his heart to do that. Pappa had grown to understand what it meant to genuinely care about people. The worry all his babies felt for them was justified. He needed Pappa to accept this.

Alma's form was finally passed over into his waiting arms and Bickslow found Arlo smiling at him.

 _"Them?_ Could my protégé really have made a child with this thing? Don't tell me you were so _stupid?"_ Arlo mocked him. "I told you before boy, it may look and talk and _fuck_ like a person...but in there's really no difference between that thing in your arms and the creature you slew under the palace," Arlo laughed hatefully at him. " _Utterly revolting!_ "

Bickslow felt a white hot rage bubble in his stomach; the bile hitting his throat made him want to vomit. He looked down at Alma and hummed a steady unwavering note. Feeding her magic directly rather than through the souls they were both now permanently linked to.

Slowly, the wound on her head closed up completely and he heard the bone in her arm crunch as it realigned, knitting back together.

"Ali? Time to wake up," Bickow couldn't completely wash the edge out of his voice and the hate in his tone roused her quickly. One of her arms slid around his neck as she stared up into his eyes almost confused to see his there looking at her.

"I was dead?" She rasped.

"No...just sleeping while prince charming came to your rescue," Bickslow teased her.

"I'm no princess," She muttered. Eyes straining to remain open. It was so tempting to sleep again. Even Bickslow felt the pull now.

"Enough of the chatter...now heal me!" Arlo interrupted, growling.

Bickslow lowered Alma to her unsteady feet as she took in the scene around them. Her eyes examining every face. Every single one. Arms encircled her from behind and she breathed a sigh; one of Bickslow's hands tracing over her abdomen. She understood what was happening.

"No," She deadpanned. "Go _ahead,_ make them kill themselves. I'd be shocked if you could force a single one to do so much as _curtsey._ I can see your hold over them, and its _paper! There's just too many,"_ She spat.

King Baros smiled a terrifying kind of smile and took a step forward, sword raised. They saw the blades the crew members held waver, but no one actually made a move to kill themselves. It was one of the hardest things a Seith could do, used normally as way to prove power, forcing someone to end their own life. In this case, Arlo didn't have the strength left for it. Not even for a single one.

The man pulled out a dagger and held it out towards the King who tipped his head back and bellowed with laughter.

"Are you actually pointing that cheap toy at me as if it were an actual weapon?" Baros mocked him. They gave blades that size to children as name day gifts.

The King moved quickly and struck the blade out of Arlo's fist with the pummel of his sword. The Seith in no position to be a threat found himself on his knees, the edge of the Kings sword at his throat.

"If you're going to kill me, then kill me already!" Arlo growled.

"I am, but not here...and not now. The Atlan people..." The King smiled, unsure he was even thinking this himself. "...the _Boscan_ people as well, I think, they need to _see_ you die. Slowly, _painfully,"_ Baros stared at Arlo's injury before glancing back to Alma.

"Heal him just enough so he lives to see his execution and I will make sure your requests are granted. _All of them_ ," The King promised.

Alma made to move but Bickslow held her for a moment. _"Don't._ He's still a Seith mage," He warned her but he knew she'd go ahead regardless of what he said. She peeked up at him, determined. "Fine...but be careful," He breathed instead of arguing further.

The King kept Arlo on his knees while she stood in front of him. Stretching out her hand, hesitating while her fingers hovered just an inch from the skin on his head. She couldn't do this without actual contact and she was determined not to give him the satisfaction of seeing how much that unsettled her.

The instant her fingers touched skin, Arlo's good hand shot up and latched onto her wrist, his eyes locking with hers and flaring brightly. The sword that the King swung at his head, barely a moment later, Alma blocked before kicking out, catching the King square in the breastplate and sending him sailing off his feet.

Bickslow felt Arlo, a distant, almost omniscient presence in his mind now. The man's last slivers of power having hooked themselves into Alma's soul. Pulling at her. Healing involved opening herself up and either she'd underestimated what power he had left, or overestimated her own, either way he'd taken advantage of the moment and seized control from her. The floating corpses behind him dropped limply to the ground. His babies having been ordered to vacate. Arlo worming his way through the link they all shared. Like a parasite.

"I take some of what I said back, she's much more than that beast," The remaining crew all pointed their blades at them now, turning in formation, moving to surround them as Arlo received a power boost. Bickslow jerked forward reaching for Alma but Arlo stopped him.

"If any of you take so much more as a step, I'll pull her soul out and throw the remaining carcass over the edge of the ship for the sand cats and wild boro below us.

"WHAT DO YOU FUCKING WANT?" Bickslow roared. "What are you _after,_ here? _Revenge?_ For _what?_ I'd say you're pretty fucking even. You want _me?_ Is that it? You want your student back? Fine, I'll go with you. _Willingly..."_ He felt her scream and thrash inside at those words. He kept his composure. "What do you _want?"_

Arlo flinched. Uncertainty in his eyes. It had changed much over the years. He'd wanted his own guild. Wanted power and to be revered. Freedom and revenge. Retribution. Now he wanted total destruction. Wanted to see those he viewed as his oppressors, crushed. Wanted them to _suffer._ But still, he knew what Bickslow was asking and it wasn't what he wanted in general, it was what he wanted from _him._ And that Arlo wasn't entirely sure of himself.

While his thoughts drifted there was suddenly the sound of singing, the crew had lowered their weapons and instead of facing Laxus and the others, they were all staring back at him. Time stilled as more and more of them started joining in on the song while he stood there awestruck. He checked, they were still under his power. Eyes still glazed over. Unseeing and unaware. He glared at Bickslow for answers but the man had none to offer him. The song suddenly stopped.

At Arlo's side stood the first lieutenant of the ship, a somewhat portly, older woman with a sweet face, and in the silence that fell she turned to the others and spoke, with a voice warped by something dark. Something that sounded altogether too much like the hag from the palace.

"He wanted a family..." She said to them. "...just wanted to be _loved."_

The Boscan woman turned and slashed at his face with the knife still clutched in her hands, the blade ran in a clean, precise line across his eyes. As he screamed, the people trapped by his magic fell unconscious to the ground while he screeched, pressing the palms of his hands in where the ruined orbs once rested. The King cracked the sword across the mage's face, knocking him out cold and silencing the sound of his agony filled screams.

Bickslow caught Alma before she hit the ground. She was awake but weak.

"That was some pretty underhanded fucking shit you just pulled," He said nuzzling her hair. Arlo had thought he could possess her soul...but all he'd done was give her access to the others.

"Well...I'm _sneaky,"_ She said with a groan. "I need to sleep for a week," She cracked on eye open to look up at him. "Tell me I can sleep now?"

"Yeah!" He chuckled. "And I think I'll be joining you," He was serious. A week straight in a bed sounded just that side of absolutely wonderful. He was utterly exhausted. "You mind telling me what _request_ was worth that kind of risk?"

"I thought it was customary to exchange gifts," She said, sleepily.

"Are you crazy? There's _month's_ till Christmas!" He breathed with a grin.

"Not _Christmas...wedding!"_

Bickslow's heart skipped a beat. An old Boscan tradition was a gift exchange at the wedding; the brides and grooms gave each other something at the reception, a symbol of their future marriage.

"You said yes?" He stilled, quiet as the blood rushed to his head. It sounded like a question because he'd honestly forgotten for a moment. And subsequently convinced himself it wasn't a real yes in the many moments before and after. The wave of chaos had crashed down on them, broken, but here they all were, alive and the tide had fallen back out to sea.

She reached up to him and traced the brand across his brow. He'd almost forgotten about it, about trying to hide it. The concealer he'd been using he'd long run out of.

"What kind of gift needs a King to help organize?" He found himself asking, stunned stupid.

"It's a _surprise,"_ She murmured before closing her eyes.

Bickslow laughed.

"So, anyone know how to land this thing?" Laxus said, staring blankly at a wall of controls. "Or do we have to wait for people to start waking up?"

Vander shrugged.

"Depends on how fast you want to reach the ground.

* * *

There was no celebration on the streets when it came time to officially crown Atla's new King. The day was marked with funeral pyres, burials. The affair itself was sober and quick. The city was a ruin. A _bloody_ ruin. But it wasn't all lost. Natsu had found hundreds in the fire temple, many having had the same idea and fleeing there for shelter...even more miraculously, underneath Josta had been left one of the rebellions moving fortresses. While the heads of Atla's resistance had been betrayed and killed, not everyone with influence or knowledge had perished with them. Mages had taken hundreds more underground with whatever they could carry...but in a city that once held millions, out of the hundred or so thousand that had chosen to remain, there were now approximately fifteen thousand still living in the city, though as news of Josta's freedom spread more were gradually returning.

Baros was crowned wearing mourning black. No jewels. No rings on his fingers.

The King of Bosco sent aid. Ships upon ships. An entire country humiliated and embarrassed and shamed, their dirtiest of laundry aired for every country to see. News spread like wildfire. The King had ordered a sanctioned cull of the Boscan government. Knights dragged men out of their beds in the middle of the night, only for them to disappear into the darkness. Names forgotten. They could do nothing less. Because in the wake of their dark dealings in Atla, other allies had questioned their respective arrangements. They needed a show of resolve...and Bosco gave that to them. It's response was brutal and swift.

An airship the likes of which none of them had ever seen arrived. The Boscan vessel carrying it's own King; a private audience with the newly crowned King Baros of Atla that lasted three whole days.

None of which Bickslow was awake to witness. He slept. Like the _dead._ Wrapped in warmth and calm and a dreamless sleep were once nightmares plagued him.

When he did wake again it was curled around a familiar body...and nearly two whole weeks had passed. She was still sleeping and he found himself tracing her stomach. He didn't know what he expected. He'd known women who'd gone nearly five months with their first child before a passerby would think to assume they were pregnant. It would be even longer before it would have something close to a soul that he would see.

This was his future. Pressed close to his chest.

"Ughhhh," A groan sounded. Alma twisting in his arms to face him. "They put me in a dress again..." She whined.

"Stop passing out and the attendants won't need to dress you," He smiled before laughing into her hair, leaving a kiss against her forehead. "There are benefits to these hateful dresses you know, though," The devious glint in his eyes made her shake her head.

"I need food...and to brush my teeth...and a _bath,"_ She exclaimed.

He kissed her behind the ear.

"I _like_ baths!"

"Food first..." It was only now she was looking around. "We aren't in the Embassy?"

Bickslow glanced at the furniture. White marble walls, gold filigree on intricate decorations.

"I think this is the palace," He affirmed with a grin, vividly remembering the last time they were here. Bickslow's stomach growled angrily. "Food then," He laughed, sitting up, but when he went to climb out of the bed his legs gave way, sending him sprawling to the floor. Alma laughed raucously at him.

"I think we've been asleep for a while," He said from the floor chuckling.

When they made it up they found bowls of fresh fruit waiting for them. New clothes hanging up on hangers. They awoke to a different Atla outside. Gone was the stench of blood and death. The oppressive feel of claustrophobic terror. The air was clean and they could see people in the market from their window.

Bickslow filled a bowl with berries and sat on the bed savouring what tasted like the best thing he'd ever eaten. Alma sat watching him, frowning.

"What?" He found himself saying as she eyes the contents of the bowl in his lap.

"I...have _cravings..."_ One of his eyebrows rose. _"Food...cravings,"_ She bit out.

Bickslow grinned offering her his bowl and watched with narrowed eyes as she quickly popped a raspberry into her mouth and looked away sheepishly. Knowing full well how she despised the overly sweet taste and yet presently could think of nothing else.

He laughed, tackling her to the bed. "Oh, this one's mine alright," She twisted under him, locking his arms with her but he kept his balance on his knees and slipped free, pinning her hands by her head.

"You've gotten better," She breathed.

"No..." He leaned down to breathe in her ear, "...you've gone _soft,_ sweetpea," Bickslows voice came out huskily. She laughed in his face before pushing him off her with a grunt and pinning _him_ on his back with a smug look.

"Not likely!" She poked him in the chest. "You _have_ improved! You're stronger now."

Bickslow couldn't tell if that was accurate; he didn't _feel_ any stronger. Didn't feel like much had changed at all in that department. Not to say nothing _had_ changed.

"Have you...?" He fumbled his courage to finish the question and left it hanging there like a noose waiting to strangle him.

She frowned.

"Thought about how many people are going to die during the length of this pregnancy and if I'll be able to get away with it?" Her tone was serious. "I gave it some thought," She said with a shrug.

"You...want to have...I'm going to be a _father?"_ He squeaked.

"If I can avoid pointy things to the guts long enough. I'll ask Erza to adjust my armour. Or _chainmail?_ Always wanted chainmail," Bickslow was still just laying there underneath her staring silently. Trying to process exactly why his heart rate was skyrocketing when what she was saying finally kicked in.

"Why would you need _armour?_ You won't be taking jobs!" He realised only too late that he'd made a statement instead of asking a question.

"So what? I spend the next nine months knitting?" She squared her shoulders, defiant. "When we hit the dangerzone around the seven month mark I'll agree to keep the jobs _local..._ don't plan on going into labour in yet another country I hate _,"_ She poked him in the chest. "But you can go fuck yourself if you think me turning into a hermit while you go off having fun is going to happen!"

She sat back on his hips, looking suddenly shaky.

"I'm perfectly capable of protecting myself...that also includes body inhabiting parasites," Her tone less angry and more hurt.

"But its not necessary to put yourself in danger, why...why _risk_ that?"

"You don't have any problem with me going on jobs? Let me assure you, anything bad enough to end this pregnancy would more than likely kill me, too," She glared at him. "So, what? This child is more important than I am?"

"That's _not_ what I'm saying! Gods, why the fuck are you so stubborn?" He dragged a hand through his hair. "I'm just saying.. _.lean on me!_ I wasn't there for you before...so let me do this. I promise, I won't rely on family handouts, I've got money of my own and...I'll take jobs. Just...consider it? The worry would _literally_ fucking kill me!" He admitted.

"Seven months and then I'll be a good pregnant housewife for the last two," She offered, compromising.

"Four and no dangerous missions, and you don't go alone on jobs," He countered.

"Six...and I'll take someone on the dangerous ones."

"Five! And you take _Laxus_ on the dangerous ones," Bickslow wasn't even sure he was comfortable with that as it was, but it was better than he could hope to expect. His family would probably think this was crazy, having to haggle like this.

Bickslow was just lucky she was willing to at all.

She paused considering his last offer and huffed rather indignantly.

"Agreed! We have a deal," She held out her hand and Bickslow shook it before narrowing his eyes, pulling her off her knees and shifting her under him; elbows resting on either side of her head.

"I want you in a dress for the wedding!" He demanded. Since they were negotiating...

"Why?"

"Asking you to go along with a traditional Boscan wedding would be a stretch, so I figured I'd start small...and you look good in dresses," He smiled.

"And I can pick the dress?" He leaned in and kissed her on the neck.

"You can."

"Any dress?" Instantly the hairs on the back of his neck rose.

She caught his suddenly worried look; knowing she was vindictive enough to make a spectacle of that, but maybe she _had_ gotten soft.

"How about I let _you_ plan the wedding?" Bickslow's eyebrows rose comically high on his face.

"Seriously?"

"My idea of catering consists of a lot of raw meat," She admitted. Undoubtedly Bickslow would like people to witness this and they probably would have tastes other than Atlan red steak. "All that...it sounds like hell to me," her nose wrinkled in disgust.

"We have a deal!" He agreed eagerly. "But you should know I plan to make most bridezillas look tame," He beamed at her, kissing his way up to her jaw.

"You want me to start calling you _princess?"_ Alma mocked, before his lips silenced her. His fingers winding their way through her hair, her palms slipping up to cup his face.

"You can call me whatever you want..." He pulled back smiling. _"...Ali!"_ He purred. "So what was it you were saying about needing a bath before we go looking for people?" Bickslow's fingers traced a path down her side, circling the skin on her thigh, having found himself between them, pressed against the length of her.

"Children aren't easy, you know," The words cooled his less than decent intentions.

"Nothing about any of this has been easy...but...it _was_ worth it. I expect that to be a reoccurring trend," He laughed. Pulling back to sit on his knees, leaving his hands to trace light touches across her still toned stomach. All the inactivity had softened his own physique, but her body was different. Almost like it couldn't forget; it _wouldn't_ weaken.

"You think you'll age normally? Get old?" The concept that she might not had often crossed his mind.

She started laughing hysterically.

"What? You put me on a pedestal that high you think I'm _immortal?"_ She sat up and flicked him in the forehead. "Of course I'm gonna get old. Old and possibly _fat..."_ She admitted that last part quietly to herself with a look of worry. Already she could feel that she would be the perpetually hungry kind of pregnant woman.

"Let's get up and get cleaned and go see what kinda madness has gone on while we were unconscious invalids," Bickslow climbed out of the bed with a groan. Legs aching and stiff.

It took a number of minutes of opening doors to find the bathroom for the suite and they took far longer getting cleaned than even Bickslow would have wagered. He would have liked it to have been for more pleasurable reasons, but it wasn't. Alma had visibly panicked at the edge of the bath. To the degree he'd to help her wash as she sat on the edge of the small pool. Only her feet left to dangle in the warm suds. Water touching her face made her flinch.

But Bickslow was patient and kept her calm, eventually he was even able to lure her in further. Something she did only because he held her close.

There was a man waiting in a chair outside their door. He didn't seem like a guard, judging by the clothes, but he certainly seemed to hold some authority. He stood abruptly and bowed.

"The King wasn't sure when you'd awaken. Please, come with me!" That meant that for the time they'd been sleeping they'd kept constant watch. Tending to their bodies. Swapping out the food in their room so they'd be assured it would be fresh.

The man pulled out a lacrima communicator and engaged in a rushed conversation that fluttered between Boscan and Atlan at a confusing pace; there seemed to be multiple people on the other end of the line.

He seemed to lead them on a tour of the palace. Whispers and stolen glances following them as they were led to a small chamber, not unlike the King's study, where they were asked to wait.

Bickslow felt suddenly nervous. He clearly remembered the last time he was left alone in a room like this with with Alma. But they weren't alone for long as Baros appeared following closely. Clad simply in plain clothes. Still no finery. The only status symbol was the bronze crown sitting on his head. He gestured for them to take a seat.

"Your compatriots are still in the palace, and a few more have joined them from your home guild, if you'd like to see them...but I thought it best to speak to you first while we still have the opportunity for privacy," The King was the picture of composure but smiled a little at the blank looks he received.

"There are a few things we need to talk about. The first is that the Boscan government have agreed to the requests I leveraged," He looked to Alma at that and Bickslow's expression fell.

"What requests?" The Seith turned to look at her and she shrugged. No doubt he'd find out later.

"The other thing I wish to address is perhaps the possibility that you would consider staying. Its already arranged that you have full citizenship, but...this country needs reassurance and knowing that the mages responsible for saving this city reside in it...it would help calm a number of riotous problems we're currently facing," He was cautious with his words.

"My home is in Fiore, with my guild," Bickslow said apologetically, looking to Alma then, for her input.

"And my home is with _him,"_ She said with a quiet smile that made Bickslow melt inside. It felt literal. Alma could be sweet. When she stopped being all those other things he sometimes wished she wasn't.

The King sighed and threw up his hands in mocking surrender.

"I'll be forgiven for trying," Baros joked. "You're being hailed as national heroes on the streets...I've even been told there's a small statue of you two that's found its way into the Sand Cat enclosure. Though, my city commander is keeping quiet on _how_ exactly that happened," He murmured not quite impressed with how rebellious Jera happened to be, though she was very good at managing people; settling disputes quietly and with minimum violence. To top it off, she was efficient and conservative with her machinations; a subtle hand even he hadn't wielded when he had the role. Having met her personal idol and tutor, he could certainly see how that had happened.

"...a statue?" Alma was totally silent while Bickslow remarked with an owlish expression. "...as in...stone likeness statue?"

The King didn't bother answering him, already seeing a flicker of ego grow in Bickslow's eyes.

"Your friends and family will be waiting, no doubt some of your daily visitors have already discovered your sudden absence and will be scouring my palace looking for you," He stood and extended a hand to the door, but then changed his mind about dismissing them just yet.

"Arlo Basta is due to be executed in the morning...should you wish to make your peace with him before then," The King's words were softly spoken.

Bickslow nodded before standing and breathed a sigh of relief; it was over. It was really over. His hand had only graced the door handle to the room when the King spoke again.

"And I always did hate that study," King Baros said to their backs and Bickslow wasn't sure he ever moved as fast as he did out of that room.

Out in the corridor Alma took his hand in hers.

"Do you want to face him?" She asked. Partially curious.

Bickslow had spent a lifetime hating the man, but Baros had been right when he'd said that all that misery had helped shape who he was. There was no point in hate, not now, and there was nothing good that could be gotten in speaking with him, either. Arlo would pay for his crimes and that would do.

"Nah..." Bickslow smiled sadly at her. They made it one more corridor before Bickslow was tackled by a cackling Natsu.

"Man, you missed the cook off! The palace chef made a stew so spicy it melted the bottom of the pot. Even I had a tough time eating it!" Natsu grinned pulling Bickslow by the shirt down the hallway. Makarov had come with Erza and Gray to personally find out what was going on and assist in any way he could with the rebuild of the city. Giant magic was actually rather useful in larger scale building work and Erza had organized the rebuilding of the guild so many times she was a logical choice. Gray...well, Gray was there cause neither of them tolerated the heat well.

Bickslow was thrown into the midst of Fairy Tail drama so quickly he barely even noticed Alma leave his side.

She was now quite familiar with the maze of corridors beneath the palace. The dungeons and the cells. It didn't take her long to find Arlo Basta's guarded cell. The guards had been notified that one or both of them might want to see the prisoner before the execution and they opened the door without complaint or a need of an explanation from her.

In the dark Arlo sat, knees pulled up to his chest. His hand she'd partially helped heal but a stained bandage was wrapped around the remnants of his cauterized eyes.

"He won't be coming to see you," Arlo visibly flinched at her words. He'd hoped that wouldn't have been the case. "I think that's for the best. He doesn't need you getting into his head again," She leaned back against the closed door to his cell.

"And why are you here?" Arlo bit out. His mouth dry. They fed him only enough food and water to keep him alive, and not a scrap more. The weeks in the cell had been perpetually filled with unquenchable thirst and insatiable hunger.

"A promise..." She whispered. "You know, I've been were you are now...I've experienced those steel tipped whips," She tapped the skin on her shoulder were a crisscross of scars were etched into her skin. "I know the pain of that and...I'm not sure that's enough...because I _swore_ you'd suffer," She said simply.

"What more do you think you could possibly do to me? What more pain do you think you could inflict that would be of any consequence?" He snarled, defiantly.

"Nothing. I doubt there's a physical pain I could inflict that would be worse than what you've been experiencing...I'm sure the guards aren't gentle..." She smiled despite the fact he wouldn't be able to see it.

"So what do you intend to do?" Arlo wondered aloud. If she wasn't there to hurt him. What exactly did she want?

And then he saw them, the faces of the dead, rising in his mind. He felt their loss as keen as a fresh blade in his chest. Felt crushing guilt and overwhelming remorse. He hadn't cared about them. _Didn't_ care about them. But she was making sure that in the hours before his death he did. The laughter of long dead children he'd sacrificed echoed in his ears, the sounds of Bickslow's lost childhood, the one he'd played a part in stealing, and if Arlo had of had eyes to weep, he would have cried a river in the desert of Atla. As it was she left him dry sobbing; forced to confront the pain of his atrocities. Leaving somewhat startled guards at his door, wondering what the woman could have done in less than two minutes that would have so thoroughly broken him.

When morning broke and Arlo Basta's execution time came, he was silent before the howling onlookers in the market. He didn't beg or try to talk himself out of it as his crimes were read to the masses while his executioner dulled the tip of his steal crowned whip, intending to draw this out as long as possible.

It lasted forty minutes in total before shock and blood loss ended his life, but as he died, between his screams, drawn forth by the lash of those barbaric whips, Arlo wailed the same thing, over and over.

"I _deserve_ this!"

* * *

Notes

Woooooo! And we sorta have an ending except for the fact I have a few more follow up chapters and bonus stuff coming. Want to see Bickslow's over the top wedding? Granted. See how well Alma's first meeting with the rest of his family goes? Done.

See Natsu take on the fire temple? Happy to oblige.

I can't thank all the reviewers enough and I want you to know you guys are the best. Desna, kmmcm, bibliophilia13, GlassMoutains, CanaryOfBlack, Weezel474, ShanaDumblond and any I might have missed!


	27. The Dinner

Notes

These little bonus chapters, like the rest of the story have spiralled wildly out of control.

I need to say thank you to Desna and Weezel474 for the reviews. It makes me happy beyond words that people are still liking and following. The comments are kinda my little nudge to keep going till I'm happy with it. Till the whole thing is complete.

You may recognize a few family members from Desna stories over the next few chapters. I hope I've done them some service. ;)

* * *

So far, the wedding preparation wasn't exactly going to plan, not at all, but that _wasn't_ entirely unexpected. When he'd considered the direction of his life in the years previous, marriage and family had never really played a part in the future, it stood to reason that Bickslow wouldn't know a damn thing about organizing a wedding.

The trip back to Magnolia was a quick one by airship. What would have been weeks of nauseous Dragon Slayers, hopping by train between towns and cities, trudging between stations by foot and dealing with the cooling weather, took a little less than two days with their _own_ private rooms. Which had been a blessing according to Laxus; swearing blind that they were insufferable to be around. Both him and Natsu were adamant that the walls of the airship reverberated the sounds of Bickslow's incessant and continuous love making in a way that made them even sicker than the motion of the flight, but they were at least happy it was behind closed doors. In _private._ When things did start between them, they tended not to stop till completion. Something Bickslow found to be rather hilarious, himself.

When they finally landed, Natsu had thrown himself into Lucy's arms and hugged her and their son so tight that Lucy started changing colour from lack of oxygen. Natsu spun the little blond boy in his arms, the tuft of sun coloured fluff passing as hair bouncing around while he squealed excitedly over the attention. All Bickslow could concentrate on was how _cold_ it was. Summer was over and Winter was encroaching, the air held a damp kind of chill that pierced him to the bones.

Alma practically stopped midway down the ramp and turned tp go back onto the ship where the temperatures were more agreeable. It took them nearly a week curled up under blankets getting used to the lower temperatures. Something that suited Bickslow just fine; his own bed...Bickslow honestly hadn't realized how much he'd really missed it.

It came as an icy shock when pregnant Alma started climbing out of bed at five am to go running again, ice already starting to leave it's leafy patterns on the morning glass. An excercise that had a very confused Porlyusica deeply unhappy. The old healer was of the firm opinion, like Bickslow, that she should be taking it easy.

Bickslow resisted her early morning arguments to exercise for a while before finally giving in, she was _very_ persuasive. Truthfully, he _was_ a little lazy and he was forced to admit that part of the reasons he trained his body so hard involved picking up women. A firm ass and a tight pair of jeans usually got him laid rather consistently. _Not_ a problem now.

Those first five miles into a twenty mile, predawn run in full gear, while he breathlessly dragged his feet in the snow, told him just how much his fitness had suffered. His pregnant girlfriend ran laps round him despite the cold. And she ran in over a hundred and fifty pounds of armour.

Alma was a taskmaster though, and within a month Bickalow had clawed back his stamina and muscle tone; was back taking jobs with the Thunder Legion and planning for the wedding. A task he found absorbed _massive_ amounts of time and energy for him. He wanted it to happen before the birth so the child could be born with the Pradesh name and they wouldn't have to change it which was a lengthy Boscan process requiring more forms that even his father was willing to help with. It also had to be before Alma was too heavily pregnant; she didn't want people thinking that he was marrying her out of some kind of obligation or go into labour at the ceremony. She'd call it off before she'd let that happen. So Bickslow had a few months to organize it all with the date loosely set in Spring.

There were people from nearly half a dozen guilds planning on attending; friends, his extensive family and a lot more. At the end of it, there would be close to three, maybe four hundred people expected. So many he stopped even counting, accepting Erza and Mira's help with the guest list and invitations. The man honestly couldn't keep track.

Then there was his grandiose plan for her to meet his family beforehand. He'd wanted to get that all over and done with before the wedding, because his fathers fears were justified: First meetings between Pradesh family members and his soon to be wife did _not_ get off to a great start. That was a tradition that looked to be carrying.

His sister, Xally, had travelled to Magnolia as soon as his father had broken the news to her back home, and too caught up in the excitement had chosen to put her hands on the now growing baby bump of her nephew; Xally hadn't even _seen_ the fist that broke her nose as soon as her fingers made contact. To Bickslow's relief, Arman had warned Xally in advance to avoid _unconfirmed_ physical contact, his fathers exact words, and she was ultimately the embarrassed one. The whole situation was something that could have been avoided if she'd heeded his advice. Though, in her defense it was pretty normal behaviour in Bosco.

The next meeting Bickslow just _knew_ was going to be worse.

It seemed simple enough. Farron and his wife, Sipia were travelling on vacation and were going to stop off in Magnolia on route. Sipia would go off shopping with Alma for baby things while Bickslow and Farron caught up, and they'd meet at a local bistro later that evening for food.

Of course, Farron getting delayed by an urgent call and leaving his unimpressed wife standing alone in the snow, awkwardly playing with her thumbs, waiting for Bickslow and Alma in the square, was a clear indicator that it was going to be one of those days.

Sipia struck a regal looking presense. She was tall. Taller than Farron by an inch _without_ heels, though still a little shorter than Bickslow. She towered over Alma like a monolith of furs, blonde hair and mile long legs.

"It's good to see you again," Sipia bowed. She was Stellan. The only reason Bickslow trusted her and Alma to get along. Stellan's were very particular about personal space. It wasn't entirely common for them to shake a total stranger's hand or hug someone; they were in no way shy about stuff, they were pretty direct, actually, and affection was something someone was expected to _earn._ Sipia was exactly the right person to introduce her to. As well as all that, she was a doctor. Bickslow was confident they'd get along.

"How far along is the pregnancy?" She didn't speak to Alma's stomach and he could already see this made the pregnant party _very_ happy. So many when they spoke to her now, bent down, almost like they were addressing the fetus instead of the fully coherent, unimpressed woman carrying it to term.

"Twenty two weeks and a few random days," Alma deadpanned, though it wouldn't have surprised Bickslow if she could give an hour and a minute to the gestation.

"Are you coping well?" Sipia asked and Bickslow smirked. Direct questions. Eye contact. This was a winning team up.

"I've inhuman gas, nothing fits, I'm _still_ getting sick..." She seemed to glance off in the distance, concerned. "I think about sex _far_ too much to be healthy ...and I can't stop envisioning a future of bankruptcy and debt, paying for all this stuff _,"_ Alma looked at Bickslow, her face animated with confusion and anger. "Why would an infant need boots that small when they aren't going to be walking? Why? What's the _point?"_

 _That_ made Sipia cackle like an old woman. Suddenly animated and all smiles.

Alma shivered against the cold in her enormously bulky coat and Bickslow wrapped an arm around her in comfort.

"Because its cute, sweetpea," He rubbed her arms to heat her up. He'd re-adjusted to the cold quickly enough, he'd spent a long time in a far colder climate, but Alma slept practically curled on top of him like a cat. Hot water bottles everywhere. She actually carried one around the house.

"Unfortunately, some will still be getting sick right up to the birth," The tall woman nodded with genuine sympathy. "The increase in sex drive and the sickness are both related to the hormones. Hopefully the worst will pass soon enough," Sipia smiled warmly, her reserved, no nonsense attitude was refreshing.

Alma liked her. Bickslow could tell.

The women talked for some time, switching back and forth from Sipia's native Stellan once it was discovered Alma could speak it; they did this purely for Bickslow's benefit, since his was just barely passable, and all three waited close to forty-five minutes in the cold for Farron to arrive. They waited until snow flakes started falling again, and Alma started going blue; Bickslow deciding to move things along without their missing member. He kissed Alma on the cheek and shoed the odd looking pair towards the indoor market before they froze.

Backtracking, Bickslow found his brother still sitting in the lobby of his hotel clutching a communication lacrima in his hands like the crystal would shatter between his fingers if he squeezed a little more.

"Should've known you'd still be working. What part of _vacation_ do you an' dad not understand?" Bickslow said, dropping himself in an armchair opposite.

Farron seemed to come to his senses at the realization of just how long it had been.

"Ohhhhhh...Sipia is actually going to kill me this time. Has it _really_ been an hour?" Farron squeaked. His last words to his wife had been "I'll catch up in a minute!"

"Don't be so fucking dramatic! She's _fine._ Gone off shopping," Bickslow stood and smirked. "Come on, the bar in this place has gotta be good for what I know you paid for the room and we got catching up to do!"

It was true. The last time Bickslow had seen Farron had been the man's wedding. He'd held it in Sipia's home town just so Bickslow could attend without breaching the terms of his exile. But that was three years and quite a few grey hairs ago. Farron looked much older than Bickslow expected _or_ remembered. His job working for the government was hard on him. Demanding. It definitely showed.

They talked about everything they'd missed during the years over a few beers. The fact that his family home had to be literally rebuilt after a particularly bad storm. The death of the family home's caretaker. There was a lot to talk about. Needless to say, the demise of Calus Sept and the events leading up to that, squarely among them.

Eventually though, as it was bound to happen, the conversation strayed to more current events and Bickslow was forced to give him 'the talk'.

"So...let me just get this straight? No _hugs,_ no handshakes, maintain eye contact, don't ask about her family or past, don't touch or brush her without warning...especially don't touch the bump...and... _no apologies_?" Farron's eyebrows were dancing up and down his forehead. Bickslow couldn't decide if his brother was trying not to laugh or what.

"Pretty much..."

"Am I meeting a woman or a wild animal?" Farron finally blurted out with a dry laugh. There was very little humour in the question, Bickslow found.

"She's five months pregnant and the hungry, horny, hangry phase has kicked in, so you could pretty much pick between depending on when she's eaten _,"_ Bickslow laughed.

 _"Charming!"_ Farron deadpanned, his voice taking on a strained edge. _"So_ ...is this one of those convenience weddings or do you genuinely have feelings for the woman?"

The blunt question threw Bickslow for a loop.

"Did you seriously just ask me that?" The Seith found himself growling in disbelief.

Farron held up his hands.

"It's crossed a few family minds...don't be angry with me for asking," Farron backtracked. "Cris and Kaleb firmly believe that you knocked up some random woman, another Seith mage at that, and are marrying her for the child's sake."

"Alma's a member of the guild, not a stranger...and of _course_ I have feelings for her. What kind of fuckin' question is that to ask. I _love_ her..." Even expecting a few unpleasant questions hadn't prepared Bickslow for how angry they made him. Farron just huffed.

"It was an _honest_ question _..._ Dad's convinced...but I'm a fan of firsthand information," Farron teased him, lightening the mood. Bickslow never remembered him being so blunt before, his wife's influence more than likely.

Bickslow knocked back his drink and ordered another round and thankfully Farron changed topics.

They spent a few hours reminiscing before deciding to head for the bistro; choosing to leave before they slipped just passed that line between merry and drunk. When they arrived at the restaurant Bickslow spotted Alma waiting to be seated, occupying herself, bent over while examining the new fish in the tank with a morbid curiosity. Sipia wasn't there but he expected she was probably using the restroom. Speaking of which.

"Alma's over by the fish tank. Back in a minute," Bickslow said. It was probably the effects of the alcohol he'd drunk that made him think it would all be okay. He'd given Farron the talk after all. And the man was used to meeting people with strange customs.

Unfortunately, Farron hadn't seen Alma when Bickslow gestured to the tank, Bickslow was a few inches taller and Alma was bending over at the time. So all Bickslow's brother saw was the well dressed restaurant hostess waiting to show people to their seats. Pretty. Well endowed. A very nice smile.

He almost didn't see the woman glued to the fish tank before he collided with her, driving her face first and rather painfully into the glass of the tank with a loud bang.

Alma turned snarling at him.

"Watch it, _asshole!"_ She bit out angrily. Face contorted in barely restrained rage. But Farron had had a bad morning himself. A negotiation he'd spent six months putting together having fallen apart within days of his very well earned vacation.

"Perhaps you shouldn't be bending over like that, blocking the way for other patrons," He would have otherwise apologised to her for the incident if she had seemed in anyway amenable to a civil conversation... and he'd been just a little more on the sober side.

"What _exactly_ are you implying with _that?"_ She asked, her face white with horror.

"That this is a _narrow space_ and your rear end is occupying _too much of it,_ " He said sharply.

She paused, hands shaking and face red, shaking off her enormous coat and thick gloves, and when Alma opened her mouth, from her lips spewed an unbroken string of curses, in a multitude of languages; some of which Farron knew, some he didn't. And then, _then_ in the most perfect Boscan he'd ever heard, Alma told him she would rip his kidneys out of his asshole and _feed_ them to the fish.

While not as tall as his wife or Bickslow, Farron wasn't a short man, and he towered above Alma, his general aura now suddenly threatening.

"How _dare_ you! ...you... _you..."_

Farron's despair when Bickslow appeared and slapped the shouting woman on the ass, grinning like a fool, was something to remember; his eyes trailing slowly down to her now visibly rounded stomach as the words died on his lips.

The woman he'd knocked into, the person he knew now with a hundred percent certainty was his future sister in-law, Alma, turned slowly to Bickslow and grimaced, a sullen demeanor now replacing the rage.

"If you want your son to _ever_ know his father... _don't_ you dare slap my ass in public again!" She growled at him, pregnancy brain let her forget almost entirely about the still present Farron, who seemed capable of nothing more than a confused gurgle. The well dressed, very _not_ pregnant woman now coughed to get their attention.

"Your table's ready," She squeaked.

Bickslow shook his head at Farron's face and swooped in to kiss Alma on the temple, letting his hand brush her stomach. A habit he found he was developing. "I'll keep it for _private_ then," He teased. "Let's get you some food before you start anymore fights," He said laughing, leading her away, what looked like a pout on her face.

"I didn't _start anything,"_ She whined, rubbing her forehead, Bickslow sitting her down at their table and sliding the bread basket over to her. She glared, irritated; pregnant or not she could still feed herself.

It would have been patronizing if she hadn't actually been all but famished. She broadcasted it him; he could literally _feel_ how hungry she was. Within moments there was a buttery roll in her hands and Bickslow doubted she could remember his name she was that engrossed in eating it.

Farron got a rather unamused look from his wife who'd hung back quietly to witness the majority of it. The concept, that this was Bickslow's choice for wife, even after he'd been corrected, just failed to register with Farron. Sipia mouthed the word 'apologize' to him but that had been on Bickslow's lists of things to avoid. He figured he'd best not chance it.

Farron's first impressions of her didn't improve; she had an absolutely _vile_ attitude as far as he was concerned and she seemed unnervingly manipulative. He felt her use magic when she interacted their server and even in a busy restaurant, they were served quickly, he'd no doubt they got their food before the others still waiting.

It was a conundrum; since his father and brothers spoke so highly of her, but Farron still couldn't see _why._ Wisely, he chose to keep his tongue in public, if only to spare himself further embarrassment for the remainder of the meal. His wife seemed to like her and Farron was almost completely ignored while they conversed in Stellan. Exactly how many languages Alma fluently spoke he couldn't even hazard a guess. Too many he reckoned to get away with a public conversation about her with his brother. Farron knew his dislike of her put him in the minority, he could tell. Sipia seemed to enjoy Alma's candor on pretty much _all_ topics. The wife of a government official, Sipia got dragged to a lot of tedious international functions; places where she would have to watch what she said religiously, couldn't drink; depending on the function you wouldn't eat either. Assassination attempts and all that. The atmospheres at those events were usually borderline oppressive.

Sipia had absently, longingly commented that she'd love a glass of wine but probably shouldn't and Alma had simply ordered a bottle to the table for her.

"I like this one. It doesn't taste like cleaning solvent," She'd said before falling back into her practically raw steak with a fervour that left Farron a little repulsed.

Managing to make it through the dinner, but absolutely unable to bite his tongue any longer, Farron cornered Bickslow in the toilets.

"I thought you were joking about her...you really plan to _marry_ that woman?" His face was an unimpressed grimace.

There were few things that rankled Bickslow. He was generally easy going. Capable of seeing the humour in most situations but this was a situation that was getting old. Bickslow crushed his annoyance underneath a smirk.

"You telling me not to? Cause, I'm gonna say it now, her appeal is _only_ going up, man!" Bickslow stuck out his tongue as exasperation assaulted his brothers normally reserved expression.

"This is _serious,"_ Farron said; his tone sharp.

"Yeah, it is," Bickslow fired back almost before his brother finished speaking. "My older brother insulted my pregnant girlfriend to her face, _embarrassed_ her in her favorite restaurant and is now trying to convince me I'm making a mistake? Newsflash, bro, but y _ou_ just so happened to knock her face first into a fish tank and call her _fat_ ...exactly _what_ fucking pregnant woman is gonna be pleasant company after that?" Bickslow shook the water from his hands with a dry laugh. "The only one letting the side down here, is you."

 _"Bickslow_ ...she used _Seith_ magic on that server..." Farron's face grew cold. According to Boscan records, Bickslow was the only recorded human soul Seith mage left. His home government might see him consorting with another as some sort of breach of the conditions of his exile; tantamount to treason, even. Their father had begged, threatened and bribed to get his young son's sentence reduced from prison to exile. Farron knew that despite the volatile state of affairs in Bosco at the minute; there would still be many in power that would come down hard on not just Bickslow, but the Pradesh family as a whole. "I _felt_ it. And then we get served first? You think that's okay behaviour? If it gets out that not only are you hanging around with another Seith, you're _marrying_ one...Bix, what do you think they're going to do?" Farron asked him.

Bickslow's attitude changed in an instant; he growled low. Looking around in case anyone heard." For the record, _we_ were served _first_ for the _same_ fucking reason we got the booking in the first place," It was an exclusive bistro that usually booked up months in advance, but Bickslow ate there frequently. " _Alma_ did a guild job for the owner, _quietly,_ before he got popular and they keep a table for us. As for the _magic,_ maybe if you didn't have your head up your ass you'd have noticed how fucking _miserable_ our waitress was, and Alma, for reason's I won't bother asking about, I doubt the answers gonna tell me anything, decided in her very pregnant, hormonal head, that she didn't want that." Bickslow shoved a now quiet and thoughtful Farron, making him stumble, shaking him out of his stunned silence.

"She's kinder than you're giving her credit for, and she doesn't like to see decent people mistreated. I'm not gonna lie, dealing with her can be tough, she's got a right hook to rival Laxus and laughs like a drunk Pergrande sailor. But she's owed a chance...and while I said she doesn't like apologies, I meant the _verbal_ kind...doesn't put much stock in words at all, really. So I'd recommend you start being a little bit fucking _nicer_ to her."

It upset Bickslow to consider how little his own brother already thought of her. Especially when he'd been the one to antagonize her in the first place. Farron already seemed to have it in his head that she somehow wasn't good enough for Bickslow. A fact that pained him considering how much she was suffering through to bring Farron's nephew into the world; Alma had only just spent the better part of a week beforehand throwing up, to the point that Porlyusica had to intervene so she didn't drop of dehydration. There had been quite a few ups and downs already.

"You really do love her then?" Farron said carefully. Bickslow had changed over the years. He was older. More mature. It dawned on Farron just how repugnant his own behaviour had been. He was being inconsiderate and cold. It struck him that maybe the bad news earlier about the failed trade agreement had more to do with current tensions than he thought. He opened his mouth to apologise but Bickslow covered it with a slightly damp hand.

"Ah ah! No apologising to me, either. And officially, as far as her magic is concerned, _empath_ is the probably best term to use in public. Its completely true so it shouldn't set off any of those deception seals they're probably still using in your offices. Got me?" Bickslow grinned when Farron ripped his hand away, making a disgusted sound in the back of his throat.

"Very well," He affirmed, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. "There aren't any other Atlan woman we could throw _Vander's_ way by any chance? You at the very least seem a little smarter than I remember," Farron finally said, optimism and humour in his voice.

"Oh, you and Alma have a _whole_ lot to talk about, bro."

Despite the setbacks, it was an all-round amicable evening. Sipia asked Alma if she could touch the growing bump and Alma had begrudgingly agreed. Stellan's wouldn't so much as hold hands without the other parties express permission. This was no exception. It was considered the _height_ of rudeness, otherwise.

Sipia cooed a little drunkenly to Alma's pregnant stomach while the pregnant party beseechingly looked to Bickslow for guidance. A look in her eyes that told Bickslow she was rather uncomfortable at that point. He laughed and eyed Farron, silently asking him when the man was going to consider children because clearly Sipia was all on board already.

After exiting the restaurant with bags of shopping in toe, the group made it only about forty feet down the street before a man darted in front of them and grabbed Sipia by the wrist, planting a knife at her throat. And looking at them coldly. Well dressed and lumbered with bags, they must had appeared like regular shoppers.

"Watches, money, jewelry..." The words died in their assailant's throat, choked by the fingers suddenly wrapped around his neck, the other set holding his armed hand immobile. Sipia breathed heavily, staring wide eyed at her husband who hadn't even been given a second to formulate some sort of aggressive response to the situation. While their unfortunate mugger was incapacitated, she ducked under Alma's arms and away from danger. A trickle of blood ran down her throat from the tiniest of cuts. It had been that close. Farron felt a surge of panic clash with intense gratitude.

Alma laughed, lifting the man up off his feet, letting him dangle, face turning red and boots kicking air while she _squeezed._ The hand holding the knife she _crushed_ around the hilt of the blade till he'd no choice but to let it go where it clattered to the sidewalk; the sound of breaking bone so loud it made Sipia wince, and she was an doctor by trade. The man screamed even though he could barely breath, and without hesitation Alma turned and slammed him back against the wall, hard enough that his eyes rolled up in his head.

When he stopped moving, losing consciousness, she let him drop, picking up the knife and turning to the others. Bickslow didn't seem phased, but Farron and his shaken wife stood there, mouths agape.

 _"What?"_ Was all Farron could say.

Alma turned to Bickslow's brother. All smiles. Something so startling that he had to refrain from stepping back.

She looked almost smug for a moment before her face started changing colour, her good mood evaporating like mist. "Not again..." Alma moaned, retching onto the road. Sipia frowning. Bickslow patting his pregnant girlfriend on the back with practiced circles.

"Did you know, morning sickness isn't just in the _morning,_ hah...cause...I sure fucking didn't..." He smirked at Farron but his eyes were tired. Farron stood silent.

Alma stood and righted herself. A little embarrassed.

"I'll contact the city guard!" Farron eventually said pulling out a communication lacrima. Happy to be of some use.

Bickslow laughed to himself as Alma turned to leave, obviously assuming her presence to be unnecessary, despite the fact that she was the one that knocked the mugger out to begin with. He took a hold of her wrist carefully and she turned to look at him, a quiet plea. She'd found herself on the unhappy side of a few of the local guard. Enough to not be here when they arrived.

"Hey, fine, I'll take the blame, but you've gotta leave it," Bickslow gestured to the knife she'd slipped up her sleeve, thinking he wouldn't notice. She was a magpie for weapons and the straight short blade looked antique. Wolves and beasts carved into the wooden hilt. Intimidating. Probably _also_ stolen.

Alma slipped it to the palm of her hand and threw it...sending it blade first into the upper thigh of the mugger who came too with another scream. Staring panicked at the dagger now standing to attention out of his bloodied leg.

Alma smirked, hugging her coat tighter and stomping off in the melting snow.

"That's wasn't what I meant, you know!" Bickslow shouted after her.


	28. The Wedding

Bickslow's remaining two brothers and final, somewhat elusive sister were unfortunately too busy for random dinners in Magnolia; some, Kaleb in particular, his oldest brother, was in line to run his own guild and his master as a result kept him exceedingly busy. The rest were on jobs, Cris, or travelling the wilds for shits and giggles, Emzadi. What that meant, to Bickslow's horror, was that the _wedding,_ despite his reservations, would be the first time they'd be introduced to their new, by then somewhat heavily pregnant future sister in-law.

And hormones had done _nothing_ for the more insufferable elements of her personality. He loved her, but like him, she was _far_ from perfect. And make a normal person vomit three times a day, urinate ten times a night and get gas just from _looking_ at a hot pepper, and they'd be pretty insufferably miserable too. Their unborn son was a kicker, as well. Bickslow wasn't sure if she was joking when she said she'd invested magic in organ repair. On one hand it sounded like an exaggerations, but for the fact that Alma was stronger than the average three hundred pound man; the possibility that he was going to be born with greater than average strength wasn't out of the realms of reality.

Bickslow in a way felt somewhat _unsurprised_ that Alma was late for her own wedding, despite the fact that she was normally a _very_ punctual person, he'd just had a feeling. Close to the wedding and uncomfortable and restless, she'd taken her last job till after the birth. The _short_ job to the next town to sniff out a double dealing mayor should have been quick for her. She could tell when people lied two rooms over, and was sharp enough to work out why. It should have been quick. But as luck would have it, things had become more complicated than the original request had entailed.

The job had ultimately resulted in a cross country chase that Alma, over six months pregnant now, _happily_ threw herself into despite protests. Loud, vigorous protests. Porlyusica had been present and ripped the communicator out of Bickslow's stunned hands, shaking the lacrima with an enthusiasm they all knew stemmed from the visualization of her neck between the old woman's wirey fingers. In an instant she'd thrown Bickslow's long and arduously planned ceremony up in the air.

Bickslow made the executive decision to send Laxus to help speed things up, because among rehearsals, already she'd missed a dress fitting, _all_ the pre-wedding little dinners and get togethers, and she'd made the admission of not being that familiar even with the location he'd picked.

It...made him nervous. Nervous enough to chase Laxus down as the man was leaving the guild on a job of his own and beg him to go find her.

But now it was the day. _The_ day. He'd been dressed since six am that morning, anxious and excited and more than a little worried. Alma was _supposed_ to have gotten back early that very morning but the horse she was on lost a shoe, and she point _blank_ refused Laxus when he suggested alternative methods of transport. So he crossed his fingers and decided to have a little faith that she'd make it.

Bickslow's older brother Kaleb questioned him _relentlessly_ about the mysterious missing bride and Bickslow kept his answers infuriatingly evasive. Boscan's had a predisposition toward coddling pregnant women. Husbands and partners were generally expected to take care of pretty much everything in the run up to the birth. The family members that hadn't met her yet would chew the ear off him to know he agreed with her taking missions that late in the pregnancy. The ones that had, were still trying to wrap their heads around the fact that he'd negotiated that with her.

Bickslow honestly hadn't expected her to still be working when she could barely hold down food a lot of the time; he didn't like it, even less when he found out she was travelling on horseback, though she assured him she was _fine_ and she'd make sure the baby was, too. Bickslow had come to the conclusion a long time ago that it was pointless in arguing with her once she'd made her mind up on things. Not as if he could do anything about it three hundred miles away.

He did all he could and moved the morning outdoor ceremony to late evening and filled the gaping space between with alcohol and entertainment. There were going to be a lot of drunk guests for the exchange of vows, but it couldn't be helped at that stage.

Laxus arrived just before noon, covered in mud and swearing _blind_ she was on her way. They had time.

Bickslow let himself relax. Sitting in his tux watching them erect the pavilion and set the chairs as people bustled round. Far more than he'd expected. Among the guests that turned up had been none other than the King of Atla himself, accompanied by his new wife and a whole host of Boscan officials he didn't recognise by airship. Fiore had sent soldiers to protect them and provide security; no one wanted to fuck up on the international stage like Bosco had. There were actually so many soldiers that the Atlan King had chose to allow his personal guard to enjoy the festivities.

He was far from helpless and the guest list consisted of some of the most formidable mages spanning several countries. Baros wasn't concerned for his or his Queen's safety. You'd have to be an _idiot_ to go there looking for trouble.

Bickslow noted with no small amusement that royalty suited Marila. Years of taking orders from Bosco's nobility, being commanded about, and she was _more_ than capable, willing, _eager,_ to give it right back to them. Baros stood at her side. Carefully guarding his expressions. There would be no public shows of affection. That was something that undoubtedly wouldn't be changing in Atla any time soon. Though, he stood _close_ to her; smiled a tiny fraction when Marila sneered at an official who greeted her by her first name before publicly rebuking him. It _amused_ the King to see her exercise her new authority and Bickslow could _see_ the affection in him for her. The way his eyes softened when he looked at her. Most people would have thought them distant, but Bickslow saw theatrics in how they held themselves. It was all for show.

Jera travelled with them, looking years older despite it only having been a few months since they'd seen her last. The age old curse of responsibility. She spent the time practically glued to a lacrima communicator with Josta, they updated her every two hours while she was absent. When he spotted her he noted that she was now wearing her hair braided as Alma had before she'd frustratedly taken a scissors to it, a new nose ring and dressed in a formal suit decorated in bronze and golden chains. A symbol of her new position of authority. She still walked with a minor limp but the old injury would undoubtedly take a great deal of time to fully heal. Bickslow could see Vander hovering nearby. His soul in a veritable tizzy over her which made him laugh a little. The man seemed to almost stalk her around the wedding, even using the shadows as she moved from area to area. He'd have to sit him down and have a talk with him, because if he wanted her to notice him, doing that was the wrong way to go about it. Vander wasn't entirely in touch with the feelings torturing him and was dealing with it in the creepy way rather than the healthy way. At least hadn't run off.

"Your Grace," Bickslow bowed to the King and turned bowing to his new Boscan born Queen. "Your _Grace!"_ He smiled. Maybe the Boscan government expected that the King of Atla making a Boscan native his Queen would have given them some sort of foot hold or stable starting point, but Marila had resided in Atla for just as long as Bosco and her original commission hadn't _necessarily_ been by choice. There were very few Boscan's that willingly chose jobs in Atla. Not if they could avoid it.

Marila as it stood seemed to take _cruel_ pleasure in making the government officials stutter _._

"Your soon to be wife jumped a _horse_ over the dessert table they were erecting and a frightening red headed woman is currently chasing her round her own wedding tents," Baros smirked, eyebrow raised. "I thought you might like to know."

"It's fine, that's just Erza. Alma should have known better than to threaten the cakes," Bickslow laughed. "Where is she now anyway?" He asked.

Marila smirked. "She was sitting with our royal guard, hiding in plain sight according to Jera," She laughed.

But Bickslow's face had fallen.

"With your guard? The tent next to the Boscan's?" She nodded and he stammered. "The-the rest of my family are with the officials... _Alma is unsupervised with the rest of my family... Alma is unsupervised with the rest of my family and armed!_ " The words were punctuated with the sound of shouting and splintering wood. The noise loud enough to carry through the trees.

"Oh Gods! I need to go!"

* * *

She'd followed Laxus's directions to the letter but somewhere in the organizing of Bickslow's wildly over the top wedding, more a festival now than anything else, somewhere in that, the layout changed. When Alma broke through the bush after being chased for half a mile by useless Fiorian soldiers, she found herself riding into the catering party presently assembling the tables for food. People screamed and shouted and it was only good instinct that the horse decided to go _over_ the dessert table instead of trying to stop, a manoeuvre which would have sent her sailing overhead and eating dirt, something that would have been both painful _and_ embarrassing.

But Erza had seen. Open mouthed, _fire_ in her eyes. The woman supervising the dessert table assembly that Alma's horse had just ruined. Mud and grass and dirt and not a single cake untouched by fodder kicked off its feet in the leap.

Alma was a warrior. To the very core of her being she was built to fight...to _win_ ...but in this case, being six months pregnant, weighed down in muddy armour and facing an enraged Erza, built to _run._ And run she did.

She was faster than Erza only because the woman was in heals and didn't want to rip the dress she'd poured herself into. The restrictive gown slowed her down just enough for Alma to duck in through the tents to hide among the Atlan guards there to escort the King, all the while a laughing Jera had to put her communicator aside because she found herself unable to breath. Of course able to recognize her.

After Erza passed, Alma slipped out of the group making it as far as the gift tent, rushing inside and sitting down, suddenly stuck with the inconvenient need to pee. Pregnancy was _exhausting._ The woman's calves ached and she was sweaty and tired and the _minute_ any of the rest of them saw her they were going to be pulling at her and scrubbing her down and making a fuss. Alma wanted a little quiet. There was so many people there and she knew them all without knowing a single one. Which was _taxing._

While waiting for the sounds of Erza's shouts to fade off into the distance, Alma picked up a few presents from the table and examined them. She rotated a curious looking box and shook it, something clinked, something that sounded suspiciously like breaking glass and she put it down immediately, looking around to make sure no one was there to witness, straightening her helmet before moving on to the next one.

This was something much heavier that looked like it had been wrapped by an unenthusiastic four year old, a glance at the tag revealed it was a gift from Gajeel and Alma smiled eagerly. The chance of something pointy within was high enough to get her blood pumping. Out of everyone at the guild he wouldn't do mushy gifts. She picked up the small one beside it, this one from Levy, a book. She snickered. Separate gifts. Levy definitely didn't approve of his choice. All the better for Alma. _Bickslow_ could open the book. Alma gradually worked her way through the gifts, taking note of the ones that interested her for later.

 _"What_ the hell do you think you're doing in here?"

There was suddenly a tall man standing there at the entrance, dark hair, piercing grey eyes; it was easy to tell he was Boscan judging by the clothes and the predatory air of someone already eyeing the bridesmaids. He glared angrily at her. Accusation in every inch of his aura.

Alma had had enough. Late to her own wedding. On the run from Erza. Battered. Cursed with the unending need to urinate. And now a perfect stranger was standing there confronting her over what were essentially _her_ presents.

" _Fuck off!"_ She snarled _._ For a moment he seemed to lose focus and wince. Staring at her with narrow eyes. Thoughtfully judging her. Alma slammed the gift box she was holding down on the table, growling. "Are you _deaf?"_

And then he moved, closing the distance quickly for a man his size and even wearing the helmet she felt the blow that put her through the back of the tent and sent her sailing out into the grass where the man pursued her to the shouts of other guests. Alma knew that somewhere there was a definite screw loose because she came to a stop, rolling in the dirt, laughing. The baby was kicking her kidneys and sitting on her bladder and she was in a fight at her own wedding. Bickslow would get his wish, she wasn't leaving the house for the next year. She swore it.

Climbing to her feet she restrained the initial instinct to go for her swords and sucked in a breath. Her opponent was a mage of exceptional ability. She could see it. _Feel_ it. She groaned. In her condition this was not going to be a fight easily won. She reached out but his soul was blocked off. He was trained. Exceptionally well trained. A Boscan Knight or a former Knight. _Just beautiful!_

People were staring. Hushed whispers. Her head snapped round to see Vander laughing. Chortling so hard he couldn't even breath, couldn't speak out to stop the fight.

She pulled off her helmet and cast it aside and he paused at the sight of her. It was some times difficult to tell she was even a woman when she wore her armour. In her current condition even more so. She was a little beyond bloated.

"I don't care if you're here with the King. You're going to come with me and explain to the bride and groom why you were riffling through their gifts. If you don't, I _will_ force you," His tone broached no argument. Vander's laughter got only louder and the man turned to glare at him, confused and exasperated.

"Is that a fucking _joke?"_ She found herself saying. That seemed to make him even angrier looking. Alma growled low, taking off her sword belt and casting it aside. She pulled off her greaves and they followed the swords into the grass. Her fingers found the straps of her augmented breastplate, but there she found a problem. When she was on jobs, the armour tended to stay on. She'd been riding hard for nearly two days straight and at some point, her growing stomach and bloating had become just a little bit too much. The piece of armour was _wedged._ Caught on a strap wrapped around her enlarging bust.

Alma let out a breath, all but ready to scream.

"Is this Atla's King's guard? Soldiers so overweight they can't even get out of their own armour?" He said, completely serious. Taking a stance in front of her, at ease, so sure of himself and his guaranteed victory that he couldn't even spare her the respect of appearing even a _little_ concerned. Vander coughed and there was suddenly silence.

There was a sick pleasure in the look of shock on his face when Alma returned the blow; the way his eyes widened at the realization that it was going to land and he wasn't quite fast enough to avoid it. And land the punch did, his head snapping to the side and the rest of him following as he hit the grass hard.

Anger bubbled up in her unrestrained. Unfiltered. Weight was a touchy subject. Fueled by hormones and the self consciousness that came with it all. The angry red stretch marks that Bickslow told her to think of like the battle scars of motherhood; as if she liked looking at her scars at all.

The tall dark haired man hit the dirt hard, coughing and sputtering up grass. He clutched his jaw tightly. She doubted she'd done more than leave a bruises.

She could have explained herself. With a breath between them to talk, she could have used her words and calmed everything down...but Alma was something she rarely ever was in a fight...she was _beyond_ fucking pissed off. Come to her wedding, punch her in the face, insult her and call her fat?

The man she faced deflected the next punch that came his way, the blow rocking off his right forearm before he countered with one of his own. Alma tipped her head to the side a fraction, leaving him to hit nothing but air. In almost the same breath she brought her knee up and kicked out, catching him in the midsection with an armour covered boot that forced him back several steps. He gasped, winded while she felt the acid bubble in her stomach. Not completely sure if it was rage or baby related indigestion.

Before he'd time to recover his senses, she rushed him and he took a hard armoured shoulder to the stomach. She hit harder than he could have possibly guessed, and he realized he hadn't braced himself quite enough, only when she took him off his feet and he felt his heels drag through the dirt. The world whipped by at speed and he felt them pass through one of the tents, colliding with a support beam that splintered, shattering in the middle, bringing the center of the shelter down on everyone's heads to the tune of more unhappy shouting. When the roof of canvas was lifted he found himself on his back on a table surrounded by Atlan soldiers who _were_ previously enjoying a drink before their tent was brought down on them.

The man kicked out and his foot collided with Alma's face, blood spurting from her now broken nose. The Atlan guard were _stunned_ ...because _they_ of course knew who this was that was currently fighting and half of them were torn between intervening to prevent bloodshed, and waiting it out to see who the victor was.

A woman barked something in Atlan, and the Boscan man found himself restrained and pulled to the floor, the soldiers decisions made for them. He felt the razor sharp edge of a sword touch his neck, the wielder behind him. Like Bickslow, and the woman he'd been fighting, their minds were silent to him.

While the guards intervened, Alma felt the baby kick and a wave of nausea suddenly hit her, much harder than the punch that had sent her sailing out of that tent. She clutched her stomach and turned, vomiting into the grass. Deep within her was the fear she was going to be throwing up, right up until the birth.

The man the guard were holding had a dawning horror growing in his eyes. Especially when Vander appeared, still grinning and wiping tears from his eyes. His face red from laughing so hard.

"Who are you?" The man asked. His own voice betrayed him; he wasn't even sure he wanted to have confirmation of the answer he'd already reached himself.

"Kaleb, meet your soon to be sister and nephew," Vander said with a wink to Alma. "Packs a punch, doesn't she? Like a little fucking lunatic firecracker."

She was still coughing and sputtering the blood out of her mouth to look shocked that she'd managed to find _another_ brother at the wedding and get into a fight with him.

" _Fuck off,_ Vander," Alma finally growled.

 _"Alma!"_ Bickslow appeared at the tent shouting; utterly manic. He threw a death glare at the man currently greying, looking sicker than the woman vomiting into the grass. "Shush..." He ran to her dropping to the ground to rub her back while she heaved. "Take _off_ that fucking _armour,"_ He squeaked in nothing short of terror. She was covered in blood. On her hands and her face.

"I _can't..._ it's stuck," She whined to him.

"Can we get a minute?" Bickslow asked the person behind Kaleb and the Atlan guard began filing out of the tent at an unspoken command. Kaleb didn't stand and the sword at his neck didn't waiver. He stayed a still as a statue. Trying to work out if he'd somehow unintentionally caused an international incident for Bosco. _Another_ one.

"Why didn't you take the _chainmail_ instead?" Bickslow asked her.

"You can see the bump..." She admitted. Being pregnant implied she was vulnerable. She wasn't, but she didn't want to make herself an unnecessary, inconvenient target.

Bickslow undid the pauldron on her arms and helped her squeeze out of the chestplate, cutting it from where it was caught on the leathers underneath. His heart stuttering when he saw the bruises; the already _healing_ bruises, that would soon be joined by a few more from her latest tussle.

"This...is the _bride?"_ Kaleb looked horrified by his own words. Saying it out loud made it all that much worse. So many conflicting feelings. He'd _hit_ a pregnant woman. Assaulted his future sister. Caused an international scene. Gods, there were photographers present. _This_ was who Bickslow was marrying?

Bickslow turned and snapped back.

"Yes the _bride!_ The one that's six months pregnant with your fucking _nephew,_ Kaleb," This was precisely why Alma was to be introduced to his family under supervision.

"Older brother?" Alma questioned with a whine straightening her broken nose.

"One of them. Still one to go... _and_ a sister... the _curse_ continues," He smiled when she started laughing at that. She'd argued or fought with every member of his family so far. No exception.

"You were right, no more missions till afterward..." She let him help her to her feet. Without the bulky armour the rounded stomach was easily visible. As were the injuries. "I concede that this was a mistake..." She wasn't simply talking about taking a mission this close to her wedding and due date, continuing a fight with Bickslow's brother was included in that. A feeling not unlike a menstrual cramp moved like a wave through her abdomen and she sucked in a breath.

"What's wrong? Are you okay?" Bickslow asked fearfully.

"I'm going to fetch a healer!" Kaleb said, voice trembling, unsure what to do, but the blade pressed in against his neck just that little bit harder, preventing movement.

 _"No...no,_ its fine. It's _fine,"_ Alma waved them off.

"What was that?"

"Those stupid fake contractions, I can barely tell them apart from the _gas_ sometimes," Bickslow glared at her, the shock and panic passing and replaced with almost anger as the terror receded.

 _"Late_ ...to your own _wedding!"_ He rasped. "It'll just be two days. It's a simple job. I need to get out of the house," He mimicked in a high pitched tone that sounded nothing like her. "Two _weeks._ Six months _pregnant_ on horse back! How much of your magic are you using right this minute to prevent yourself going into premature labor?" He demanded pointing finger at her chest.

"I'll admit, more than originally planned," She wheezed. He wasn't even sure if she was joking. She may not have been.

Bickslow's panic broke and he swooped in to kiss her, catching her off guard and almost taking her legs out from under her; the limbs turning to jelly as soon as his lips made contact.

The sword at Kaleb's shoulder tapped him and a female voice said _"Up."_

Vander shrugged at his questioning glare.

A shaky, confused Kaleb held up his hands and stood turning around to find an Atlan woman in a royal service uniform pointing a sword at him. Just like Bickslow and his bloodied bride, he couldn't hear her thoughts. He hadn't even known she was there until the sword had landed at his neck, the weapon was one of the two that Alma had thrown aside.

"You're lucky she didn't use these," Jera twisted it in her grip and put it behind her. _"And_ ...you're _really_ lucky you didn't hurt them," An eyebrow rose. "And Vander would always talk about you being the most level headed," She was smiling shaking her head at the shadow mage.

 _"Most_ of the time!" The man himself added.

"I honestly don't know what came over me," Kaleb rasped. What she'd said was true. Kaleb was a step away from a guild master back home. His restraint was usually second to none. But in an instant he'd completely lost his temper.

"Don't worry, we've all been there," She was laughing at him.

The implication sunk in.

"Magic?" He rasped. He'd felt no magic, and his own ensured he was usually protected from anything that would influence him.

Jera looked around him to the couple still wrapped in each others arms. Two weeks apart having taken its toll.

"You should come with me, let's get you a drink and sit you back with the rest of your family," Clapping him on the shoulder. "You look like you need it."

* * *

They sat at a table that had been dubbed the 'Victim Support Group' by many at the guild. As the pregnancy had progressed those closest to her had noticed that when she got irrational, so did the people around her. When she was angry, so were those closest to her at the time. It didn't take long to work out the woman who had been so sensitive to others was broadcasting her strongest feelings.

The table was littered with a mix of Pradesh family members and Fairy Tail, the group mingling and reminiscing. Mainly about how much trouble the wedding couple had caused them.

"Bickslow didn't just sleep with _one_ of the guys daughters, he slept with _two..._ on the _same fucking night_. Were we paid for the job? We were lucky when they chased us out of town it wasn't back to the guild to burn it down to the ground," Laxus wiped tears from his eyes, laughing. He could joke about it now...but at the time Bickslow had cost them their pay on a rather lengthy job.

"Yeah, well, I told you about her almost getting her head cut off, didn't I?" Jera exclaimed, sitting beside Vander, all but pressed up against him, his arm resting on the back of her chair like some sort of unspoken claim on any single guys that might want to try their luck with Josta's city commander. The look she threw him when no one was looking seemed to imply she herself was perfectly fine with that. Bickslow could see how their souls reached out for each other. How they were pained by the distance.

"Don't be _ridiculous!"_ Kaleb _scoffed_ at Jera's claim. "I don't care how good her healing magic is. It's not _that_ good," The stray thought that it might be, was enough to make Kaleb's blood run cold.

"You'd say that until you saw her pull out arrows like cactus spines," Laxus nodded. "Or walk onto the end of a sword just to see how many ran when she pulled it out," He laughed.

"I don't care. You can't heal from a severed head. Cris?" Kaleb asked the blonde man at the end of the table, currently laughing with Sipia, Farron's wife. "Can you survive a severed head?"

"I'm going to say _no?"_ He muttered with an uncertain laugh. So far he'd yet to meet the bride himself but he'd heard some tall tails.

"It _didn't cut off her head..._ just her _throat,"_ From behind them a grinning Bickslow was smirking. There were a few grass stains on his suit that would need to be cleaned before the ceremony.

"Bickslow..." Kaleb started. No doubt about to launch into an explanation about earlier events.

 _"Relax,_ the first time I met her I was torturing her for information," Bickslow pointed at Vander. _"He's_ tried to kill her like, three times already _and_ had his ass kicked in a duel ...and dad _stabbed_ her," He recounted, looking round at the table, there were a few people missing from his family. "Farron?"

"He's got his tongue up the King of Atla's ass..." Vander coughed as Jera elbowed him hard in the ribs. "Ahem...he's talking with King Baros and the other Boscan's. Something to do with a wedding gift? Em is stalking the caterers, apparently they've a roast boar," He swiftly corrected. Emzadi had a weakness for meat to rival Alma.

"Hey, you guys don't happen to know what this gift _is?"_ Bickslow asked, he'd spent the better part of three months prying but still hadn't a notion.

"Not a clue," Vander answered while the others at the table started talking amongst themselves again.

Bickslow's present was currently sitting in Laxus's jacket pocket. Waiting for the exchange after the wedding.

"She asked for you," Bickslow said to Jera who smiled.

"Probably for protection, I'd better head before a second fight breaks out." She laughed at how Kaleb's ears reddened I'm embarrassment

Bickslow saw the way she squeezed Vander's thigh before standing and leaving, and the sly suggestive wag of her eyebrow as she turned toward the cottage. Yeah, he wagered his brother had it bad.

The minute they'd made a public appearance people had hauled her off back to Levy and Gajeel's house. The out of the way dwelling had been offered as a base as the series of clearings Bickslow had picked for the event were right on their doorstep.

At the front door a scowling Mira greeted her and pulled her in by the elbow.

"You must be Jera," She sang sweetly, a hint of something dark flickering under the surface. Jera recognized irritation when she saw it.

"Yep. I..think I've been _summoned?"_ She teased.

The white haired woman smiled lead her through the house where a swarm of people were bustling about a tired, awkward looking Alma who was currently sitting on a kitchen chair, at least two cushions wedged between her ass and the hard wood.

Her hair had been cut and she'd pushed the loose waves back behind her ears. They'd already applied the makeup and Jera honestly almost didn't recognise her. The dark kohl on her upper lids flared out in very Boscan looking wings and someone had patted fine gold powder onto the skin at her hairline and into the roots of her hair. On the bare side of her single shouldered gold gown was a black ornamental pauldron. The material looked too thin to be of much protection in a fight but it was a symbol more than anything. She was a warrior. And she would marry as warriors did, wearing armour. Jera felt words die on her lips to how much a stunning figure her mentor made.

"You look...really...I don't have words," She admitted with a smile.

Alma fingered her own nose ring and gestured to Jera's.

"It suits you. Same with the uniform. Has your timing finally improved?" Alma mocked her.

"Better than yours anyway...I've been told you were late for your own wedding," Jera fired back with a quirked eyebrow and a side grin. It was true Alma's timing used to be impeccable.

"I'll concede, my own _has_ slipped," She said, switching to Atlan. She doubted the others would give her more than a minute in private to talk and there was a conversation that had been a long time coming.

"I...haven't been completely honest with you, and I felt I should probably start. I want to before...well...before this," She smiled awkwardly.

"I know what you're going to say. It's _fine,"_ She waved her off casually. "I'd always figured something was a little off, sure, my father wasn't exactly the most likeable man, but you pretty much hated him from day one. And _then_ you'd let him get away with stuff...and you... _you_ don't let people you don't like away with _anything._ You treated us like family. Too much like family for us to not _actually_ be related in some way, _"_ She smiled sadly. "You reminded me of my mother so much sometimes. It..was good to know why. Weird...but _good,"_ Jera leaned down and hugged her, careful not to move anything.

"How?" Was all Alma could say.

"Oh," Jera sputtered a brisk laugh. _"Vander_ told me," She smirked.

"For a supposed spy, that _asshole_ has the loosest tongue on the peninsula," Alma complained before her eyes narrowed. "Speaking of him...how are things going with you two. Don't think I don't know about his little sneaky trips back to Josta. I doubt he's going for the _weather,"_ Alma's tone was laced with smugness.

"It's... _complicated._ He helps me with the leg when he visits."

"Love very rarely seems to be straightforward and I'm _sure_ he does," Alma laughed at the way Jera's eyes narrowed.

"I don't know what it is, but it _isn't_ love," Jera said rather coolly.

Alma's eyes flickered blue for a second. Just a momentary flash of power.

" _Yes...it is_. You've got hooks in each other. And all you're doing at this stage when you get close is reeling each other in. My advice, if you _really_ don't want this to go farther, _stop having sex with him!_ " Alma barked, eyes twinkling with humour.

There was a look of mild panic on Jera's face at the thought before she groaned collapsing into a chair opposite her; expression blank, eyes a little distant. She buried her face in her hands.

"Ughhhhhhh... you think the King would have me executed if I resigned and moved?"

Alma shook her head.

"No. He _likes_ you. Besides, you won't have to, there were a few accommodations Atla made for this treaty. One of which was accepting a couple of Boscan knights into the Kings guard. Bosco doesn't want any more _mischievous_ Seith bending the will of the King's of Atla," She smiled at her young protégé. "I happen to know who Baros requested lead them," Alma knew the man was shrewd but where the presence of Boscan knights so close to him might have been considered a risky compromise to accept, putting those knights under Vander's thumb, the man presently sleeping with the city commander; a man he trusted to some degree was a way of neutralizing it. Baros was a smart fucking man.

Jera's face cycled through so many emotions it made Alma a little dizzy before she leaped forward, wrapping her arms tightly around Alma's shoulders not giving a damn about ruining her makeup or her dress.

"I love you so much...and I _fully_ expect to see this baby when it's born," Jera looked at her sternly. "You will visit afterward!" It wasn't a question or a request. A command. It made Alma smile. Pride. She felt it clearly for the first time.

* * *

Bickslow changed his shirt and cleaned the grass stains from his knees while Ever complained about his now less than pristine appearance; the woman having put a lot of work into cleaning him up for the wedding very early that morning.

"How do I look?"

"Like you're about to disappoint a hell of a lot of women, Bix," And she'd hugged him. As close to a brother as she had in the Thunder Legion.

And then it was suddenly time, hours later than planned, a crescent moon visible in the night sky, half of the guests already far, _far_ drunker than even Bickslow had anticipated. Cana passing him a flask of something strong. A nerve steadying warmth hitting his stomach and settling him.

When he turned to see her walk up the aisle it was alone. She wasn't being given away. She didn't like that idea. So instead, Alma appeared there on her own. Most women might have appeared awkward or vulnerable taking a march like that through crowds of unfamiliar faces, under _constant_ scrutiny, but _she_ was the intimidating one. She took large solid steps in her stride. Her back straight, head up. Her dress, her very skin shimmered when the camera flashes hit her. The light reflecting off the metallic gold in her dress and hair, a pair of flat black shoes on her feet. The decorative pauldron that covered her bare shoulder down to her fist drew many a curious and appreciative eye. The entire thing would have looked ridiculous on anyone else; on _everyone_ else. But it was her. _This_ was her.

"You're really wearing armour?"

"You said I could choose...and you started it, remember?"

"I expected you'd pick something other than _armour..._ That can't be comfortable!"

"Hey, you got your enormous, over the top wedding, and I got to pick the dress and its accessories...and to answer your question, it was comfortable a few weeks ago when I tried it on. Now it happens to be chaffing the side of my growing bust and I regret it entirely," She said without humour..

Bickslow straightened his suit.

"Well...you look fucking _amazing_ and I feel underdressed," He looked around at the faces of the onlookers. "Though ...they seem to be too fascinated by you to really notice _me_ ," He winked at her.

People took their seats and the ceremony started. It was presided over by a Fiorian appointed minister from Crocus who looked a little too pink in the cheeks; no doubt the man had had a few drinks waiting for them to get ready and it clearly showed, because he kept the ceremony short. Very short. And before they knew it, it was over and Bickslow was standing there, a married man.

In Bosco there were so many protocols for events like this, on average your typical wedding took two days. There were forms to be filled and submitted. It was a _complicated_ and lengthy affair. Something Alma wouldn't have taken pleasure in. This in comparison was short and simple. When Bickslow kissed her at the end he heard people gasp and shout, and he knew that there'd more than likely been a discharge of magic again; apparently another side effect of her being pregnant. Hormones or something along those lines.

They were literally _volatile_ together at the moment; the Kings study had _not_ been an isolated incident and Freed had his work cut out for himself charming the individual rooms of their house.

They walked down the aisle arms linked. There were camera flashes going off, both from the guests and the handful of reporters that had been granted permission to attend. After all, Boscan dignitaries, the King of Atla himself arriving by airship with his newly crowned queen, it was an _outrageously_ enormous event. The only reason the Fiorian King wasn't there himself as well, was on account of the security risk. He stayed in Crocus only under the promise that Atla's King visit the palace before returning home.

As they made it to the end of the aisle one of the photographers stepped out in front of them, partially blocking the way.

"Hey, come on, give us a smile!" He cooed to Alma, who to Bickslow knowledge _was_ actually smiling, at least up to that point; no doubt trying to block out the overwhelming energy of the place.

The man found his camera snatched out of his hands faster than he could blink in shock. Alma locked eyes with him as she smashed it between her two palms. The entire thing _crushed_ beyond repair in an instant of shattering glass and sparking lacrima.

Alma grinned widely then, showing teeth as she handed the remains of the camera back to him.

"This better?" She asked, sweetly.

One of the reporters with the man put a hand on his trembling shoulder and led him away. "She got married in armour... What did you _think_ she'd do?" They could hear him say.

"You didn't have to destroy it," Bickslow whispered to her.

"Not if you want tomorrows newspapers with a front page, full size picture of me fighting with your brother, anyway," She smiled.

"I forget how crafty you are."

"You really have no idea, _kitten,"_ She rasped in Atlan.

The reception area was waiting for them in the next clearing. Caterers scurrying around with plates and an enormous tower of a cake on a table by itself, under guard by Erza.

Now was the gift exchange, a prospect that made Bickslow nervous.

Laxus shimmied through the crowd and slipped the small cloth covered parcel into Bickslow's hands. He held it behind his back.

Everyone took their seats and silence descended.

"I know you aren't someone to stand on ceremony, so I figured for once I'd be direct and just get to it," He laughed and people in the crowd cheered and whooped. Bickslow presented his gift, unwrapping it it for her.

Her face fell to one of wonder when she saw it. A small blade about seven inches long with a bone handle hilt. The old bone was scored with images of sandcats framed by vines and there were words etched into the Atlan steel, 'The Light Of My Life Came From Darkness," she repeated the words back to him out loud. Bickslow saw the way her eyes shone and leaned down kissing her on the cheek, obscuring the sight of her tears while she carefully wiped them away.

"It's beautiful...thank you!" Words very almost failed her. She sucked in a breath and looked out into the crowd, to the Boscan men Baros had brought with him on the enormous airship sitting just outside town.

Bickslow had been more than a little preoccupied with the wedding to pay them much heed, but as they approached and he had the chance to examine them, he thought for a second he recognized the oldest; an elderly man with thinning grey hair and a scar on his lip, but it was only a fleeting thought. The only thing he could be sure of was that these men didn't actually seem happy to be there at all.

He looked back to Alma quizzically. No doubt she'd have an explanation.

"I didn't know what I could get you that you didn't already have...forget about that you might _want._ Family seems to mean more to you than anything. So I figured I'd start there," She said.

Bickslow looked down to her growing stomach and balked. "A baby? Was _that_ the gift?"

She shook her head with a laugh, more a snort than anything, and nodded to the men now standing with the King behind him. When Bickslow turned a Boscan official put a scroll in his hands.

"What's this?" He asked. At the corner of his sight he could see members of his family shift uncomfortably. His father looking concerned. The Boscan government and Bickslow had absolutely zero contact and his father worked hard to keep it like that.

"This is an official apology; a _retraction,_ from the Boscan Steel Council," He said coolly.

"For _what?"_ Bickslow asked, his stomach now in knots. His hands shaking.

"For your _exile,"_ The man said, as if Bickslow should have known as much. The old man with them stepped forward. "Its an admission of failure to you and your family. Accepting your innocence at the time and the injustice of sentencing," Bickslow heard the noise his father made. Like he'd suddenly drawn breath on the verge of drowning in the silence between words. There were gasps and mutters from the crowd. The man gestured to the elderly gentlemen at his side. " Derin is with us to remove your brand," He said.

Bickslow stumbled and only Alma's solid hold on him kept him from faltering. He nodded, unable to formulate words, looking to her and back to the faces of his stunned family. He'd be able to return home. Visit them. His _son_ would as well. It was unthinkable, how she managed to organize this.

As if reading his mind she laughed.

"It was added in as part of the negotiations between Atla and Bosco. Really, a tiny thing in comparison to the rest of the reparations the Boscan government ended up making," She added. "Though, these idiots wanted to do it in private, behind closed doors. I thought publicly was better. An apology is meaningless without the appropriate level of _shame,"_ She said to him; not even remotely quiet about it, making the Boscan men's faces flush with anger.

She wiped at Bickslow's face and he realised his cheeks were wet. He was _crying._ He looked to his family to find they were in a similar state. Shocked and elated beyond any kind of comparison.

As she was giving him a new family, she'd also given him back his first. For Bickslow, it quickly became too much to hold in; he openly wept, pulling her up off her feet, spinning her. To thunderous, raucous applause. Fairy Tail were practically _exploding._

"Thank you! _Thank you!"_ Bickslow repeated over and over, voice breaking.

"If you would please be still," The old Boscan man croaked, placing his thumb on Bickslows forehead, the brand rippling and moving like water along his skin, seeking out the digit and disappearing where it touched the mage.

It weighed _nothing_ but when it was gone it lifted a burden Bickslow hadn't even realized he carried. He now knew why the man looked so familiar, though when he'd placed the brand on him in the first place, Bickslow had been only a boy, and he, a far, _far_ younger man. Part of the reason the brands were said to be near impossible to illegally remove was because only the one who set the mark could do it. And the particular magic itself was a dying skill.

Bickslow hugged her again.

"I love you...I love you so much!" He cried into her hair.

"You can show me how much later," She looked him dead in the eye and stuck out her tongue, and when Bickslow started laughing at that, he found he couldn't stop.

His family were climbing over people and chairs then, scrambling to get to the couple. Alma grabbed Bickslow and put him between them and her. Shielding herself while Bickslow continue to cry as his family pulled at him and jumped on him. Laughter and tears and just plain old ugly bawling. His sisters snuck around while his brothers mobbed him and circled Alma like predatory sand cats.

Vander spotted her over Bickslow's shoulder.

"YOU'RE GETTING A HUG! JUST ACCEPT IT!" Vander shouted, laughing at her attempt to get away from them. An impossibility thanks to their overpowering numbers.

"Don't think I won't punch you!" Alma said, her voice a tremor, but the smirk pulling at her lips gave her away.

"Fucking worth it!" A mop of reddish gold hair flashed at the corner of her eye and Alma narrowly avoid being tackled unawares by the only sister she hadn't met; stepping and twisting out of the way. A maneuver made difficult by the belly currently throwing off her balance. While Emzadi distracted her, Xally caught her from the flank and in moment she was crushed between them, cursing.

"Why are there so many of you?" She coughed. "ERZA! YOU'LL GET FIRST SLICE OF THAT BEAST OF A CAKE IF YOU GET ME THE FUCK OUT OF THIS!"

They all heard the sound of a skirt being ripped and the ring of steel... and that officially heralded the post-ceremony wedding party, Fairy Tail style.

* * *

There would be no whisking off on a honeymoon for them. Not for a while after the birth either, so after the celebrations ended late the following morning Bickslow found himself helping Alma take off her shoes, her feet had literally swollen into them and her back was too sore to bend over and take them off.

Bickslow sat her down on the couch and took a cross legged seat on the floor opposite her, so he could rub her feet.

He watched her wince. And lightened his touch.

"Not you," She said with a light smile. "Little asshole is kicking my kidneys."

"Probably vengeance for two weeks on _horseback,"_ Bickslow said, momentarily unimpressed by the memory.

"Well, then he can enjoy the last few months of sedate life in there, before he has to face _all this_. Your father practically followed me around for the night. Every second word out of Kaleb's drunk mouth was an _apology._ The rest of you lot just kept trying to hug me and rub my stomach like it'd grant them wishes or something."

Bickslow laughed at the image.

"You can't help them for getting excited," Bickslow defended. Though even he'd had to convince his father and sisters not to temporarily move to Magnolia. They'd only agreed on the promise that they'd visit Bosco. He didn't know where Alma would want to have the child. He'd be a Boscan citizen regardless country he was born into, but having citizenship of three countries couldn't hurt. Magnolia he figured would be best.

"I guess not," She made a face and winced. "Here, gimme your hand," He offered his palm to her and she put it against her stomach. Something collided hard behind the skin and Bickslow pulled back his hand fearfully.

"What the hell was that?"

"I told you. He's beating me up from the inside. My kidneys are being _tenderized!"_ She'd been serious. Bickslow rubbed the palm of his hand absently. He'd fathered a literal _monster._

"Ali...I'm having sudden, mildly crippling concerns," He muttered.

"Too late now, _dear husband!_ " She pulled him up and kissed him. "Now, please, if you wouldn't mind, I need you to pick me up and get me to bed, I don't intend to be leaving it for a while."

Bickslow smiled obligingly, scooping her up and heading for the stairs.

"I'm fully expecting my family to turn up here in a few hours, drunk off their asses and arguing about baby names," Bickslow laughed to her.

"About that..." She started and he paused mid step on the stairs.

"You actually have a suggestion?" He asked, eagerly. She'd been frustratingly silent up to then on the matter.

"Ardan," She said and he repeated, rolling it around on his tongue. A clear take on his fathers name, which Bickslow one hundred percent was happy with.

"Does it mean anything?" He asked, not sure if she just liked the sound of it.

"It does. It means 'to aspire to great things'," Her hands patted the bulge under her ribs, wincing when their unborn son replied in kind.

"I love it," Bickslow said. "Though, it'd be funny if it turns out to be a girl, wouldn't it?" He teased.

"I don't care if it's a _tree._ It's getting called _Ardan!"_ She growled down to her stomach. "You listening in there?"

* * *

Notes

I just want to thank you guys so much for sticking with this. I have a bonus Natsu chapter next, if you're interested. Lol He did lead an assault on a fire temple and end up rescuing a lot of people. I think he deserves some story time so I'm gonna give him his moment to tell it.

The next chapter is it on this piece and then I move onto my new Gajevy story. Eeeeeeeeep, so excited for it.

I love you guys so much.


	29. The Temple

Notes

And the final bonus little chapter for Of Barren Design. I just want to thank everyone who read and reviewed or just read and secretly reread. It's been a long road but we made it to the end and I can't thank you all enough for the support.

Keep an eye out for my new Gajevy, Sick Heart. First chapters should be out in about two weeks. I plan to turn a few Fairy Tail tropes upside down and inside out. Sick Heart is probably going to wind up being another long one. I don't think I could write a short story if I tried.

What, you didn't think that was the end of me, did you?

Xxxxx

Moonbeam

* * *

If there was ever an indicator of the kind of agony a person experienced during childbirth, Laxus only needed to listen to Alma's screams, her curses, to know it was bad. He hadn't been around for Lucy's delivery, so he had nothing to compare it to, but if Natsu's pale face was anything to go by, this birth might not have been going as smoothly as Lucy's.

Alma's waters had broken in Laxus's kitchen as she'd been arguing with him over his measurements of coffee in the coffee maker. He'd been trying to point out she shouldn't have even been drinking it to begin with, while Bickslow urged him not to engage, knowing it could never be fated to end well. What argument with a nine month pregnant woman the size of a small house did? Then there was a sudden pause as she stopped talking mid sentence, zoning out, their confusion punctuated by a floodgate at their feet and forever immortalised by the words. _"Definitely not gas_..."

They knew things had gone wrong when Bickslow was ejected out of the delivery room by force. An unusually stern looking Wendy pushing the frantic man out; sweating, crying, there was blood on his hands.

"Keep him out here!" She said to Laxus with a growl. The Dragon Slayer nodded, feeling suddenly ill.

"Bix?" Laxus looked at Bickslow worriedly. The man was practically shaking.

"The baby's too big, he's stuck. They think if she pushes anymore they'll just end up hurting each other," He said with a horrified, haunted look in his eyes, putting his head in his hands, his cheeks smeared red. His son's shoulders were wider than Porylusica had gauged at the last check up and there were now a list of complications as long as his arm.

Alma had complained about not having the pelvis for childbirth, but her pelvis was just fine, it was his giant, abnormally strong offspring that was the problem. Ardan was quite literally killing her, Bickslow could _feel_ it. She'd live so long as she could heal, but she couldn't heal without magic, and stamina for that. But after hours of labor _that_ was something both of them now had precious little of. Wendy and the old crone were the only ones that could help her through this now.

It terrified him to discover that the best thing he could do was get out of the way. _His_ panic was her panic, and that wasn't helping.

Another scream punctuated the silence that fell in the hallway.

"I need distracting. Come on, please _distract me_ ," Bickslow asked, desperate for something to wipe the worry out of his head.

Laxus looked toward Natsu. When he'd transported Alma and Bickslow to Porlyusica's home he'd found the Fire Dragon Slayer already there picking up some ointment for his son, the toddler now running round like his lunatic father and overly fond of jumping in poisonous foliage.

"How about how I tell you about the time I got your father drunk?" Laxus offered with a grin. Arman Pradesh was not a heavy drinker but Laxus could mix some _very_ potent cocktails and who would guess that the man could hold a note.

"Vander told me that one," Bickslow replied to a very disappointed frown. It really was a great story.

"Or about my _weekend_ with Xally?" Laxus narrowed his eyes. A part of him now looking to shock his friend.

 _"Oh,_ he told me that, _too,"_ Bickslow smirked.

"For a spy, your brother _sure_ likes to talk," Natsu piped up.

"Yeah...don't I know it!" Bickslow laughed ruefully. It was a running joke at this point. The _gossiping_ spy. Though he was now the gossiping _bodyguard_ to the Ambassador's office in Josta and currently still seeing the city commander there. An early exit from his previous line of work had done him good. He was happy. His family had almost forgotten what that looked like.

Bickslow expected that at some point he'd be attending another wedding. Jera and Vander were inseparable... and _nauseatingly_ affectionate to be around. If you left them alone for more than a minute at a time they'd be all over each other. They couldn't even manage to keep it together for the wedding. Gajeel had _not_ been pleased to find out what they'd been up to in his house.

"Hey, Natsu _...Josta..._ fire temple, you never did tell us what actually happened in there," Bickslow spoke up, wincing seconds before another scream actually pierced the air. Acutely aware of his wife's suffering in a way that few soon-to-be fathers ever would be. They'd already agreed that one child was enough. Neither of them would be putting themselves through this again.

"It's kinda boring.." Natsu looked a little evasive which only piqued Bickslow's interest that little bit more. "There wasn't even a fight."

Laxus fixed him with an unimpressed glare.

"You _literally_ destroyed the building, Natsu...and as I recall you blamed that on the fire priests," Laxus smelled a lie in there. If there was no fighting, what reason would Natsu have had to take the whole thing down?

Natsu looked at Laxus and went to stand.

"I should probably get back to Lucy..." A firm hand fell down on Natsu's shoulder and forced him back to his seat. Laxus glared unwaveringly at him.

"Oh...this I _really_ need to hear!"

* * *

"Yali!"

"My _name_ is Yal- _eeee_ ," The man enunciated again with deep irritation to Natsu, who still couldn't actually hear the difference between what he was calling the Atlan guard and the name the man kept growling back to him, unimpressed. Languages were _not_ his forte.

"I was raised by a Dragon, you know, _people_ languages _aren't_ really my thing!"

"Surely you have _ears?"_ The ludicrously tall guard bit back. Standing at least a few inches taller than Laxus and clad in traditional armour, Yalee looked about the same height as Elfman except with a more narrow, streamlined frame. The man quite literally towered over Natsu.

"I have _great_ hearing...just _not_ for words."

"Even Atlan children living on the streets learn the tongues of others...learn their _customs,"_ It was a foreign concept for the soldier; that someone would visit Atla of all places, spend _weeks_ in the city and not even pick up a single word of the native language.

"Yeah, well the sounds people make when I _punch_ them are all the same..." Natsu shrugged. "...so it's never _actually_ been that much of a problem. Lucy does most of the talking. I do a lot of the hitting," Natsu cracked his knuckles.

The guard snorted behind his mask. The hollow sound rang in Natsu's ears a little like a bell.

"And in that, there is truth indeed," He remarked.

The city was bare of the living but not the dead. Bodies littered the lanes and streets and before the men could even assemble outside the temple gates, they had to devote a half hour to clearing the dead lest they end up standing on corpses. The stench of old, rancid dried and drying blood was enough to make Natsu's sensitive nose wrinkle in disgust. He'd fought and he'd killed, and he'd seen his fair share of the fallen, but he'd never witnessed the horrors he'd seen here. Every dead, bloated face that looked up at him from out of the dirt was one twisted in savagery or fear, madness and pain. They were innocent people trying to get on with their lives and they'd had their very sanity violated.

The sight of a dead toddler made him pause in his assessment and Natsu found he couldn't quite look away. The night sky was alight with the sight and sound of cannon fire as Laxus and the others took on Arlo's stolen airship. The flashes were strong enough to illuminate the streets and tiny, dead white eyes pierced Natsu in those moments of clarity; he found that in those fleeting seconds of troubling vision, it was his own son staring up at him, not the eyes of a stranger's child.

He'd been selfish in leaving on this stupid trip. An idiot to think that his own disappointment, depression gave him the right to get away from his _responsibilities._ His son came first. Lucy came first. He should have swallowed his resentment. His pride. Should have buried them and _burned them._ When he became a father, his life ceased to be his alone, a part of that belonged to his son, to Lucy. When Lucy suggested he get away for a while it should have been his wake up call to get a grip, instead he'd jumped at the chance to get away, only to spend every second of every day since, missing them.

He was a little grateful to Alma because he knew, _knew_ she tried to help him when she was around. She wouldn't say it, probably _die_ before admitting it, but the Dragon felt her magic, allowing it only because it brought him some semblance of peace. A tiny flicker of solace. She was a good person despite the need she had to convince everyone otherwise.

"Do not be troubled by the dead," The tall guard put his hand on Natsu's shoulder, shaking him from his thoughts and bringing him back to the moment at hand. _"They_ are not troubled by _anything,_ now, _"_ His words offered only the briefest comfort.

"Death is like going home?" Natsu repeated from memory, he'd heard Alma say something similar to that, some time ago.

"For a _soldier,_ yes!" The guard seemed pleased by the comment. Happy that Natsu had at least picked up on _something_ during his stay. Though the sentiment was a sombre one. Yalee looked around the blood soaked dirt. "We do not fear death because to die is to forget fear. To lose all pain. Evil and suffering are the curses only the living bear. But...this? Our reputation is harsh, we... are a _hard_ people, but we are _not_ unfeeling monsters. The Atlan guard do not drink, we do not rape...we do not fight unless ordered to do so," He defended, glancing around him despondently. "When monsters have nightmares...I think they will dream of _this,"_ He said darkly. They were trained to follow all orders without question, no matter the demand, but Yalee had doubts that even his own men would have followed through on something like this. A part of him was comforted by that.

"There was a brothel in the lower quarter. They sold... _raped_ kids. That was apparently _legal_ here," Natsu snarled. Every breath before and after, an accusation. He'd watched the guards at the embassy stand and do nothing while people were murdered feet from them. He'd seen the dead slaves at the sky port. The burned bodies left on the pyres.

The guard grabbed a hold of his shoulder.

"We do not make the laws... and the ones ultimately responsible for them, and _this..._ for the centuries old, outdated beliefs that judge children as adults, men as monsters and our women as _property..._ hundreds of years of archaic laws and cruelty lie just beyond that gate. Ours for retribution, _if_ we can get inside," The guard said. The man untroubled by Natsu's words but keen to point out where his venom should be directed.

Natsu considered that. What he'd come to see from the people of Atla weighed up to the man's words. Out of all the nobles that he'd run into in the Embassy, not one kept a single slave or treated their children as anything other than what they were. The Dragon Slayer turned away to stare at the wall circling the Temple; the great obstacle protected by magic, access only possibly through a single steel archway and gate.

"Leave that to me, Yali! All those times I accidentally levelled towns and got crap for it, _who's laughing now, old man?_ " Natsu smirked, looking up to the sky, hoping somehow, somewhere in Magnolia, Makarov heard him.

"You really believe you have the power to destroy the wards protecting the Temple?" They'd held back mobs. Turned away armies. They were centuries old.

But they'd never stood against a pissed off Dragon Slayer.

The images of the dead floated through his mind again and he saw his son now among them. When Natsu turned and roared it was as if a hurricane of fire exploded out across the sands, hitting the barrier with a thunderous crack and shaking the earth under their feet. Natsu's throat _burned_ and the supposedly fire proof cloth he wore smoked, not entirely able to compete with the flames.

The soldiers stepped back away from him, the temperature too much even for their armour. They watched as the fire rolled over him in waves of intense heat. The sand under his feet melting into glass.

Fueled by ambivalent emotion he couldn't possibly find the words to describe, the barrier shattered under the onslaught of his attack. Invisible runes high in the air were suddenly revealed as they caught fire, burning away in a chain reaction that seemed to spread beyond the gates he'd directly attacked.

There were mutters behind him and the tall guard came to stand at his side while a hundred foot segment of wall crumpled like paper, leaving the front gates of the temple grounds bent in, hanging from the cracked steel arch and smoking. Standing alone. The barrier gone.

"You... may name me whatever you wish," The guard breathed appreciatively.

Natsu rolled his shoulder.

"I always get in trouble for this kinda stuff...it's kinda nice to be appreciated," He smirked, surveying his handiwork. "And I'll just call you Yal."

The Atlan guard drew his sword and from the sound of ringing steel behind them, his men did the same.

 _"Yal?"_ He uttered with distain _._ "Very well ... I am a man of my word but if I hear you encouraging anyone else in using it, I'll part your head from your neck," He warned Natsu.

 _"Please..._ if Erza hasn't done it yet..."

" _Erza_?"

"The most terrifying warrior in my guild," Natsu explained with a laugh.

"I find the idea of any man strong enough to terrify a Dragon Slayer, utterly unsettling," Yal murmured. Having seen just what Natsu was capable of and knowing that there were stronger in his guild was difficult to wrap his mind around.

"Oh, she's _definitely_ not a man," Natsu laughed.

"A woman?" Yal paused thoughtfully. "Well that makes _far_ more sense," he spared a quiet, sad chuckle.

"I didn't think soldiers here had much time for women," Natsu enquired.

"We aren't _eunuchs,"_ Yal fired back _. "_ There are no laws forbidding us from having relationships or starting families. Many simply chose not to... this life breaks the best of us."

"Do _you_ have anyone?"

"I have a wife... it... I doubt she still resides with the living," He admitted. "I'm here to ensure her memory receives justice. That the _dead_ find justice," He intoned.

The normal, standard thing to say would be an offering of sympathy. An apology. To tell this man how sorry Natsu felt that he'd lost someone... but looking around Natsu wagered every person not yet dead in Josta had been touched by one tragedy or another. His words of sympathy would be meaningless.

"I'm here to guarantee that that happens," He chose to say instead.

Yal turned to him, his head cocked quizzically in thought.

"Good."

Entering the gold decorated temple it was clear the poison never made it passed the barrier outside, because while there was evidence of destruction, there were no bodies that they could see. Pews had been overturned and moved, statues toppled and broken, but there were no dead.

"The temple looks like a stampede of boro ran through it..."

"Or a stampede of people?" Natsu offered. It was more likely that those fleeing the hell outside did this damage as they raced inside the walls.

"Then there is a chance that there could be hundreds of people still alive and unaware that the poison had been purged," The man fixed Natsu with an unmoving glare from behind his helmet and Natsu scoffed.

"Yeah, yeah, don't bring down the temple. You're not as scary as Erza but you're just as patronizing, you know," The Dragon Slayer wheezed unhappily. He had more control over himself than that.

Yal didn't answer him and Natsu heard it in the silence. The muttering of quiet voices. He smiled, feeling suddenly hungry.

When the stream of fire suddenly appeared heading their way, Natsu was already in its direct path, and within a half breath it was gone. Consumed by the smiling Dragon Slayer. The next stream went the same way. Disappearing down Natsu's gullet.

"Hey, not so much so fast. You don't want me to start belching!" He shouted into the darkness with an even darker grain on his face.

"Should I ask?" Yal turned to him, querying offhandedly.

"Should I _demonstrate,_ might be the better question," Natsu thumped himself in the stomach and as well as a loud stinking burp, more flames than even the fire priests were able to conjure shot out of his mouth, scorching the walls of the corridor and earning him a series of petrified, pained shrieks.

"That's _foul._ And they tell me you married a refined beauty from a wealthy family? Can I assume she's both _deaf_ _...and_ incapable of smell?"

"Whoever told you that, _lied,"_ Natsu coughed out a laugh, before he fumbled in his pockets for a moment and pulled put a small photograph. Despite the magic protecting it, it was scorched around the edges. _"_ She _works_ and drools and burps...just like everyone else," He presented the photo while guards pulled two priests out into the main hall, forcing them to their knees, chaining them and hammering the bolts into the floor so they couldn't escape.

"She... is _beautiful,"_ Yal said, rightly stunned that the crude Dragon slayer with a penchant for destruction could have wooed a woman like that. The picture of the golden haired, mud covered Lucy was taken while she was sitting in the sun on the wall over Magnolia bridge after a particularly messy job. It was striking to Yal, who found himself reminded of his own wife's bright, easy smile.

Natsu had taken the photo of Lucy right before Happy had accidentally knocked her into the tepid waters below. The next photo he'd snapped was not so cheery.

"Yeah, I'd just be glad if our kid grows up with her smarts," He laughed.

"She's given you _children?"_

Natsu didn't hear anything else over the pounding of his own heart at the mention of his son. He was a crappy father. A good friend, maybe, but a terrible parent. They hadn't planned for children, it wasn't exactly a happy discovery and he knew he'd sought to distance himself from the baby. Maybe in a stupid way trying to pretend the child wasn't now the single most important thing in his life. More than himself, his friends or his guild. It was hard to come to terms with how much change had been heaped on him. Natsu didn't handle change well, he never had.

He rubbed his forehead absently trying to take his mind off that. They couldn't afford the distraction right now. And to think he'd been angry at Igneel for leaving him, only to turn around and do the same thing years later with his own flesh and blood.

"If people outside came in here for protection. Where would they hold them? It'd have to be a large enough space for a few hundred people at least," Natsu redirected the uncomfortable topic of conversation.

"There's a large chamber under us. I'm led to believe its where they held their slaves. A temple this size often housed hundreds," Yal clarified. The priests very rarely allowed people access but the building had been there long before the priests and their religion.

"If there's innocent people still alive, we need to get them out," Natsu said with conviction. One that Yal clearly shared.

"Agreed. They should be our priority," He looked at Natsu, gesturing for the men to proceed. "Try not to bring the Temple down on our heads."

Natsu held up a fist, letting fire crawl along it, illuminating a wickedly fanged grin.

"I'll do my _best!"_

* * *

The passages down underground were too quiet for any of their liking. There were no people, fire priests or otherwise. It resembled a tomb more than a temple and the only evidence that there'd been anything living within the walls at all, was the trail of destruction the fleeing people had left in their wake; herded through the dim corridors like cattle.

Natsu's nose got it first, overwhelmed by the stench of burned flesh, charred leather. It was a smell so potent, so noxious it had seeped into the very stones of the building and it made his eyes and mouth water unpleasantly.

Yal halted his men at the mark of disgust on Natsu's features. Nose wrinkling and mouth twisting against it.

"You can smell them?"

"Yeah...some of it's old...but some is new. _Very_ recent," He made his expression as dead as stone to hide the distress that very fact caused him. The people who ran from the horrors on the city streets may have walked into another kind of horror.

"I hope your nose is wrong," was all Yal said in reply. His tone dark.

They made it to a set of iron doors barred from the outside with several thick steel beams. Probably by the very men they'd captured in the corridors above.

"Whatever they burned is beyond that door," Natsu nodded towards it.

Yal pulled off his helmet and his gloves and put his hand against the cool surface of the entryway. Natsu got his first good look at the man's face and tsked to himself, drawing Yal's attention.

"Thought that thing was welded on or you'd s flesh eating skin disease or something," Natsu said with a grin. Yal's face twisting as he fought the urge to smile. The Dragon Slayer was competent and funny. Definitely not the worst companion on this mission.

All the soldiers seemed to have scars on their faces and Yal was no different, though, not many would know that the scar over the bridge of his broken nose, he'd actually received from his wife, who'd accidentally hit him with a cooking pan.

The man took a hold of one side of the first and lowest beam and Natsu's took the other as the rest of the men caught on and started removing the remaining barriers from the door. The steel groaning as the weight was lifted.

When they opened it finallly, the sight that greeted them had most pausing in their tracks.

There were people _everywhere,_ silent terrified faces all around, staring up at them as though they were nothing more than figments of their imagination; hallucinations caused by dehydration and hunger. The stench of faeces and urine just barely detectable over the smell of burned flesh and smoke.

At the end of the enormous hall a large, dark glass structure greeted them like a mountain. The people pushing back away from it as though it were a beast about to strike or a cursed object.

"I am first lieutenant Yalee Doran, of the city guard, the streets have been made safe, we are here to help you," He announced. The sight of his bare face and hands made the people relax. If the guard had been there to kill them or harm them, they wouldn't have been showing their faces. At a word from Yal the others took off their helmets.

But Natsu's attention was focused on something else. Transfixed by the glass structure at the end of the hall; looking closer he saw dark shadows at the core of the blackening glass.

"What the hell is this?" Natsu's breathed absently, picking his way through the host of people and rapping his knuckles on it.

"Doran?" A shaky female voice spoke out. Unsure that they'd heard correctly but realising they had as Yal turned to them at the mention of his name. "Your wife was the glass maker?" Disbelief and dismay in her voice.

"Yes! Is she here?" Yal almost fumbled with his own tongue he was suddenly so hopeful but the old woman pointed to the glass.

"She saved us, brought up a hurricane of sand around them and the fire. Swallowed it all," The woman rasped, her throat dry and lips chapped. "Even while she burned..."

Yal put his bare hand against the smooth surface and whispered words Natsu couldn't understand. He'd accepted the possibility that she'd died, but actually knowing was clearly something else entirely.

"Get anyone who can walk on their feet and out of this temple. You will carry the rest. Leave the dead. Am I understood?" Yal shouted, his men beating their breasts with a thunderous clamour in response, acknowledging his order.

Slowly the hall emptied leaving Natsu and Yal behind in silence.

"I fear I haven't been completely truthful with you. For all your enthusiasm, I was ordered to save the temple if it was free of poison. If it _could_ be saved, " His voice had strained considerably. Natsu saw emotion there. Could practically taste the pain. "But... I would rather see it fall," Yal admitted.

Natsu didn't question it. He just nodded. It was done, down here at least. There were now more survivors. The priests were dead. All that was left was being taken care of on that airship and he'd no doubt they would succeed.

The Dragon Slayer pulled back a flaming fist, taking aim at the glass but Yal caught his arm.

"Not it.." Yal petitioned him. Natsu narrowed his eyes but didn't say anything more about it. Instead of asking why, after all, it would break under the weight of the stone anyway he looked around the temple for the supports. It just so happened that he was very good at bringing down large structures.

"We've cleared the temple, lieutenant!" A young looking man interrupted the quiet moment between them. "It looks like they burned their slaves in a smaller chamber below. The carcases have been cold for days," He added with a nod. Natsu reckoned that was probably the soul hag's chamber they were talking about.

Natsu struck two of the pillars simultaneously with a single attack and as they fell the temple rocked around them.

"If anyone asks just say I tripped," Natsu announced nonchalantly as the lingering guards threw confused looks his way. Yal stood unmoving.

"If the dead don't feel pain, they probably don't feel the good stuff either, get moving, we need beers... And I don't wanna hear about drinking on duty," Natsu practically dragged him outside. A comical sight despite the height differences.

Outside they all gathered. The survivors led away, back to the palace where there was still infrastructure to care for them. The guards remained, knowledge of the lieutenant's wife's fate spreading between them.

Natsu's roar wasn't as powerful as the first but no sooner had the stream of flame disappeared through the now open temple doors than the entire building began to tremble. Stone and steel falling inward. In less than ten seconds the whole thing was nothing more than a dusty heap of rubble.

The destruction of Josta's temple, the first order the Atlan guard had ever disregarded.

The screams in the waiting room had died down as Natsu finished talking. His short tale enough to distract both Laxus and Bickslow from his wife's tricky delivery. They held a few moments of silence but the quiet was broken by a newborn wail bringing Bickslow to his feet and sending him barrelling back into the room, Laxus and Natsu rushing after him.

"We already agreed...but really, no more children..."A strikingly pale Alma said from her bed, holding the baby. There was blood everywhere. It looked like they'd to carve her open to free the infant.

Bickslow tripped over his own feet, in such a rush to get to her and fell onto the end of the bed, scrambling to recover.

"Holy crap, Bix, your kid's a monster!" Laxus whistled. "He's gotta be what, fourteen pounds?"

Alma's eyes narrowed at Bickslow, almost in accusation.

"I'd say twelve actuall..."

Her words were muffled by Bickslow's lips. He pulled back only to look down into the face of the baby in her arms. He was perfect... and Laxus wasn't wrong, he was possibly the biggest newborn Bickslow had ever seen. That a woman as small as his wife had carried him to term was almost ridiculous. Poor Levy was having twins. He blanched at the thought.

Porlyusica held back, washing her hands while Wendy lingered at the bedside. Bickslow only now noticing the Dragon Slayer's disheveled pigtails and red sweaty face. He took his son into his arms and cooed to the blood and mucus covered face peeking out from the blanket, eyes closed and unseeing.

Wendy stepped around the bed and held out her hands to him to take the baby. He'd need to be washed, officially weighed and checked out for any injuries. Bickslow looked to Alma first before handing their son over. She was odd when it came to stuff like that.

"Fine..." She ramped. "So long as I get him back!"

"Give it six months and you'll be begging people to take him off your hands, " Porlyusica grumbled, making Natsu snort. He certainly knew that feeling. Lucy and him both.

"Man, your family is gonna flip when they see how big he is. You sure you're the father?" Laxus winked teasingly at Bickslow.

"Are you kidding? Of course he is, he's too good looking to be anyone else's," Bickslow stuck his tongue out at them.


End file.
